


man in a long black coat

by vtforpedro



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Character Death, Blood and Injury, Credence Barebone Heals, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Demon Deals, Demon Original Percival Graves, Demon Summoning, Disturbing Themes, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, POV Credence Barebone, Religious Conflict, Some Humor, Top Original Percival Graves, its softer than it sounds omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which Credence Barebone suffers greatly at the hands of his mother and is pushed into summoning a demon, who may lead him down the path to hell and damnation or perhaps offer him salvation.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 38
Kudos: 191





	1. Chapter 1

Credence stumbles out of the church, his mother’s hissed damnations echoing in his ears, and walks out into the cold December night.  
  
She’s kicked him out for the night and says he can return in the morning, if he survives the cold, and Credence wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. He’s bleeding, the lashes across his back numerous and open, raw, the warm blood soaking into his undershirt a stark difference to the cold biting at his cheeks.  
  
Ma had found the money he’d been saving all year. To escape, to get away from her grasp, hidden under the floorboards under his bed. He’s not sure how, doesn’t think that Modesty would have told her, but perhaps pulling up the floorboards had seemed like something she ought to do.  
  
It doesn’t matter.  
  
The money's gone and Credence has been beaten far worse than he has ever before. The belt normally only goes across his back, but today she’d swung it at his face and his jaw is in immense pain, though he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’ll have an ugly welt for a while and won’t likely be let outside until it heals, barring tonight.  
  
She’d told him to find an alley and hide himself, keep himself quiet, unless he wanted it worse later.  
  
He wonders why she hadn’t let him stay, considering she said she didn’t want to listen to him crying all night, if she expects him to keep quiet out here as well.  
  
Credence wanders, hunched over, trying not to move the skin of his back by standing upright, but whenever he is jostled by the wind, he feels more blood ooze out of the lashes and idly wonders how anyone can look at him and not see.  
  
Not see the pain, not see the hurt, not see what his mother does to him.  
  
But it’s late and most New Yorkers are already asleep and those that aren’t can’t help him because they’re in as dire of situations as he is or they simply don’t care.  
  
Credence grasps at his pocket, hearing the crinkle of paper inside, feeling a hard, small object and closes his eyes. He’s been saving them for so long, always a sin in and of itself, but he’d never thought he might use them.  
  
But he’s not just hurt. The physical pain he is used to, the emotional just as much. But reduced to this, reduced to begging for her forgiveness, knowing she wouldn’t give it, knowing she’d just hurt him more, and leaving him in the state he’s in… Credence is angry.  
  
He’s angry at himself, at his mother, at God and the world. He’s angry that he is so weak, that he cannot save himself or his sisters, that he lets her get away with this.  
  
Credence may be sinful and wicked but he’s always tried to do everything right. He’s always tried to please her and he never can. She tells him how and when he gets close, she changes the rules, just a game, and he is tired of it.  
  
If he is sinful and wicked, he supposes he cannot be anymore so, after what he plans on doing. If he dies tonight, at least he will know what’s real and what isn’t, and he will know what side he’s on after.  
  
The walk to Central Park feels like it takes hours and he thinks it must, because the full moon is higher in the sky when he gets there, looking up at it. He wonders what earth looks like from the moon. Is it so small, so far away, would it make Credence feel as if life’s pains don’t matter so very much, if he could see it from there?  
  
He doesn’t know, so he walks into Central Park, dark and eerie and silent.  
  
Credence walks for a long while, until he gets to a small fountain, the concrete around it covered in this morning’s snowfall. He falls onto his knees, his feet aching, his knees screaming for relief, and he thinks the lashes on his back tear open more, but he’s freezing and the pain is lessened. His teeth chatter and he thinks his lips must be blue, but he doesn’t care.  
  
He wipes snow away with jerky movements, exposing the damp concrete below, until there is a wide space open. The fountain trickles next to him, the sound bouncing through his skull, almost ominous in a way, but he wouldn’t be able to say why.  
  
Credence pulls the paper and a piece of chalk out of his pocket, looking at the cracked skin on his palms, the blood there dried, but ugly. There’s a dull throb and warmth in his left hand and he thinks it might be infected. Perhaps he will lay down after this, in the snow, and he will let himself die, because staring up at the trees and the stars would be a far better sight than a hospital or looking into Ma’s eyes.  
  
The paper shows a drawing of a pentagram and his heart races a little, just to see it, though he has looked at it so much the paper is wrinkled and stained with tears and blood. This is the Devil’s work, but God’s work has never helped him before. The chalk he took from Modesty’s room, white and plain, and he’s not sure if that matters.  
  
But he draws the pentagram, his movements slow, his muscles and joints stiff and painful. It’s not perfect, a little sloppy in the middle, but everything he does is a little sloppy, he thinks. But the circle outside is alright and he stares down at it, cold wind biting into his threadbare clothes, into his chest and cheeks.  
  
He’s forgotten what to do after this. There are words, he knows, words he’s supposed to say, to summon a demon, but it’s just like him, to forget. To come this far and forget the most important part.  
  
Credence sniffs and tentatively reaches back, under his shirt and over his back, where the blood is both hot and cold now, as it leaks and dries, and he looks down at his hand. It’s smeared over his skin and in tiny droplets on his fingers and he stares for a while, at the crimson splashed across his startlingly pale hands, the snow below an even starker contrast.  
  
He gently moves down and onto his side, curling into a ball, pressing his hand against the cold concrete. “Please,” he whispers, because he doesn’t know what other words to say. Because he’s only ever known how to say _please_ and hope that someone understands what he’s asking for.  
  
Credence closes his eyes, shivering violently enough to hurt, and it could be seconds or hours, but he feels fingers in his hair, and is disappointed, because he is still so cold and in so much pain, so that means he isn’t dead.  
  
“Shh, shh,” someone hushes him when he whimpers. Their hand moves down to his neck, pressing against his pulse, before they move over his arm and toward his back. “Shh, none of that now.”  
  
Credence is attempting to push them away, because they are lifting his shirt and they will see, they will see his shame, but he’s too weak to stop it. The icy air bites into his broken skin and he hears a man hum above him.  
  
“It’s the cold that’s going to kill you, not those,” he says and his tone is almost bored. “Unless you’re not after your life being saved?”  
  
That confuses him and the man’s voice sounds far away and all too close at the same moment. Credence feels ill, his stomach churning, but he manages to open his eyes and look at the man.  
  
He’s kneeling in front of Credence, over the pentagram, another bit of Credence’s shame. For a moment he thinks it might have worked, but he looks closer at the man. He’s got dark hair with a dusting of grey at his temples and dark eyes, is cleanly shaven, and wearing very fine clothes. A black suit under a long fashionable black coat and Credence realizes he is just one of many businessmen in New York.  
  
“I thought…” Credence trails off and closes his eyes. “Please, sir, I’d like to be alone.”  
  
“Summoning me is an odd way to show that.”  
  
Credence’s eyes snap back open and he looks at the man again, swimming in and out of his vision. He’s watching Credence curiously, with a faint smirk, and he is quite handsome. They always say the Devil will be attractive, but he’s inclined to think a prank is being pulled on him, as he lays here dying of the cold.  
  
“You’re not the Devil.”  
  
“...no,” the man says slowly. “He doesn’t take housecalls. Neither do I normally, but I happened to be in town.” His hand moves to Credence’s hair again, brushing his fingers through it. “Why’d you draw it and offer your blood, if you want to be alone?”  
  
“I didn’t think it’d work,” Credence croaks.  
  
The man laughs. “No, I suppose most young people don’t,” he says. “Who did this to you?”  
  
Credence shudders and closes his eyes, a soft whimper escaping him, which the man shushes again. “My mother,” he finally manages to whisper.  
  
“Hmm,” the man hums, like this is merely an interesting piece of information. “Well, there are a few things we can do about that. I suppose the most important question is, do you want me to take you somewhere warmer or would you rather I leave you here to die?”  
  
“Does taking me somewhere warmer mean taking my soul?”  
  
“Not yet.”  
  
Credence shivers and tries to curl up more, but that only makes his back burn. He winces and looks up at the man. “Where?”  
  
“I own a place. Let’s get you warm and healed up. That one is on me.”  
  
“Okay,” Credence whispers. He thinks he may be dying and that he’s imagining all of this, but the man touches his forehead and suddenly the cold bite of snow and wind is gone.  
  
There’s still coolness, but warmth as well, and Credence blinks blearily around, until he recognizes bathroom tiles against his cheek and under his hand. The man is gone, but Credence hears him and the sound of water being turned on. It fills the bathroom with steam and Credence tries not to think about the fact that the pentagram may have actually worked.  
  
That he summoned a demon, a disciple of the Devil, who will take his soul from him and lead him to eternal damnation.  
  
Can it really be so much worse than all of this?  
  
He feels his jacket and the shirt being lifted from his back and he whines, in embarrassment and pain both, but the man only shushes him again. It’s an intense searing pain, getting them over his head, but the man does before he runs his fingers along Credence’s back.  
  
An odd sensation moves across his skin, like hot wax, not painful, but strange, and his skin feels tight, the way it does when you touch wax. He’s a bit frightened the man is perhaps hurting him more before he realizes that the pain is steadily receding. The sting is gone, the ache disappearing, and as the bathroom fills with hot steam, the cold in his bones is chased away.  
  
Credence tentatively moves his hands, stretching his fingers, wincing, because the wounds are still there.  
  
“Sit up,” the man says.  
  
And Credence does, dazedly, and the stretch in his back is gone. There are no more lashes to break open, he knows, they have been healed. The man reaches around him, standing behind Credence still, and takes his hand. Credence stares as he runs his warm hand over Credence’s and the swelling, the infection, the open wounds and blisters all disappear. He does it to Credence’s other hand as well, leaving only unmarred skin behind, and Credence thinks about witches and magic, but he doesn’t think that’s what this is.  
  
He has summoned a demon after all.  
  
The man’s hand moves to his jaw then, and the deep ache is gone soon after, the welt and swelling disappearing.  
  
“Anything else?” the man asks and sounds amused.  
  
“No, sir,” Credence whispers and finds himself terrified to turn around. That he might not see a handsome man anymore, but a demon, with horns and a forked tongue, prepared to devour him.  
  
The man turns off the water before his hands move under Credence’s arms and he lifts him, quite like he’s nothing but a feather, which is somehow both frightening and arousing. Credence is horrified by that thought, but then the man moves in front of him, and he is still the same handsome man that he was in Central Park.  
  
“Get in the tub and let’s wash that blood off,” he says. “I smell it enough already, I’d rather you didn’t stink of it when we talk.”  
  
Credence blushes and blinks a few times as he stares at him. “Are you a demon?” he asks weakly.  
  
The man raises a dark eyebrow. “I thought you were aware of what you were doing?”  
  
“But… but…”  
  
“You didn’t think it would work, yes, I know,” the man says with a chuckle. “Percival Graves.”  
  
Credence doesn’t think that sounds particularly like a demon’s name. It sounds like a normal name, but perhaps they do that, to blend in in the real world. Because he doesn’t think this place is in Hell. It looks like a normal bathroom, if a bit larger and nicer than those he normally sees.  
  
He opens his mouth to give his name, before deciding against it, because surely that’s what the demon will be after. He’s reluctant to ask what he wanted to ask now that he doesn’t feel like he’s dying and yet he thinks it would only be polite, considering the demon has healed his wounds.  
  
Credence still feels weak but he’s able to get down to his underclothes on his own. He turns to the bathtub, blinking at it for a while, because it looks larger than any he’s ever seen. But he steps into it anyway and sinks down, bending his knees a little so he can feel the water up to his chest, and flinches when he sees it begin to swirl with blood, turning crimson.  
  
The demon moves to the covered toilet seat and sits down, grabbing a small towel, one of a few, and gesturing for Credence to lean forward. He does so, his cheeks hot, and closes his eyes tightly as Percival Graves washes the blood off of his back, his movements quick and ungentle.  
  
“So, Credence,” he says. “Tell me what you had in mind when you summoned me.”  
  
“I…” Credence trails off and stiffens. “H—How…?”  
  
“I promise you the answer will always be that I’m a demon,” Mister Graves says. “So no more questions. Not yet. Answer mine.”  
  
Credence bites his lip, staring down at the water as it steadily turns a deeper shade of red. “I don’t know,” he says softly and frowns when Mister Graves hums in disapproval. “Well… I thought I might die. So I was… I was going to offer my soul, if you… if you took my mother’s too.”  
  
“Just her soul? Not her life?”  
  
Shame burns in him then, in the heart of him, because that is what he wanted. It’s always been what he’s wanted, deep down, and he knows he is truly wicked.  
  
“I suppose if I still thought I was dying I would ask for her life,” he mumbles.  
  
“Should’ve kept you the way you were then,” Mister Graves says, but he says it with good humor, rather than anger. “Her life would be sweeter to me than just her soul.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Death is my game, Credence, and I love to play it. Leaving a soulless monster up here would only embolden her ways,” Mister Graves says. “I wouldn’t get the lives or the souls she would take so there’s no reward in it for me.”  
  
“Would you have asked for my life too then? Instead of just my soul?” Credence asks and feels tears burning in his eyes.  
  
Mister Graves pulls back and tosses the towel aside, grabbing a clean one. His hand moves to Credence’s chin, forcing him to look up at him. With one finger under his chin, he pulls forward, but Credence does not come closer. It’s only a shade of Credence that follows, pulled out of him, and he gasps.  
  
“Souls are so easy,” Mister Graves says and pushes forward, until the shade of Credence joins with him again.  
  
He falls back against the tub, his heart slamming against his ribcage and he’s gasping for air, because he felt the hollowness for a moment, the strange apathy, and he stares at Percival Graves, eyes wide with terror.  
  
“Now, Credence,” he says. “You knew what would happen if it did work.”  
  
Credence swallows dryly, breathing deeply, and nods. He’s sweating, cold beads of it sliding down his forehead, and he realizes what he would have damned himself to, if he had already given Mister Graves his soul.  
  
“M—Mister Graves,” he manages. “You want my life?”  
  
“You haven’t actually asked me for anything yet,” Mister Graves says. “Graves or Percy, pick one.” He turns the water on again and with a snap of his fingers, the red water is gone, not a stain in sight, and the tub steadily fills with fresh, clean water again, steaming. “I’d like to see your mother and what she’s like before we enter into a contract.”  
  
“Mister…” he trails off and frowns. “Percy,” he says, but that sounds so strange to him and Percy must see it, because he smirks as he wets the new towel with hot water. “What if I don’t want to enter into a contract with you?”  
  
“Well, I would say that’s not very polite of you. I’m a very busy man and I don’t like to be summoned. That’s for junior demons. I was off corrupting a few gentlemen of stature when you called for me,” Percy says and gestures for Credence to lean forward again. “I think you owe me something, for ruining my night. Or delaying it, in any case.”  
  
“What would that be?” Credence asks warily, his stomach queasy as he imagines all of the foul things a demon might ask for.  
  
Percy doesn’t answer immediately. He only scrubs at Credence’s back for a moment more and the water turns faintly pink, but the blood must be gone now. He hands Credence the towel to clean his own hands off and he does so, more gently than Percy had done.  
  
“I’ll tell you that after I’ve seen your mother,” Percy says as he leans back. “Until then, you’ll stay here.”  
  
Credence blinks as he looks up at him. “As your prisoner?”  
  
“No,” Percy says with a smirk. “As someone smart enough not to go crawling back to his mother fully healed hours after she did what she did to you.”  
  
Credence blushes and clears his throat. “Where are we, exactly?”  
  
“Uptown. I told you, I own a place. It’s an apartment,” Percy says. “Don’t leave here until I tell you to do so. And I will know if you do, Credence.”  
  
That’s frightening, but Credence supposes he can’t expect anything but frightening things from a demon. “Alright,” he says quietly and looks away, thinking that still rather sounds like he’s a prisoner.  
  
“I’ll leave soon, for the night,” Percy says and stands. He hands Credence a fluffy white towel before he leaves the bathroom.  
  
Credence stands on shaky legs and steps out of the bathtub, dropping his underclothes and quickly toweling himself off. The towel is large enough to wrap around his shoulders and cover himself, because as warm as the bathroom is, he’s beginning to tremble.  
  
Percy comes back, holding a pair of what looks like black silk pajamas, and he looks Credence up and down. “Look at you, no longer on death’s door.”  
  
“Would I have gone to Hell if I had died? For summoning you?”  
  
“No,” Percy says and smiles, when he sees the hurt that causes Credence. “You were prepared to ask me to kill your mother and knew you’d end up in Hell for that. Isn’t it amazing, Credence, what desperation and pain pushes us to do? Get dressed.”  
  
He leaves the pajamas on the counter and walks out and Credence stares after him, tears in his eyes. He hasn’t earned himself a way straight to Hell yet, but he thinks once Percy is done with him, he will have. It makes him ache, because Percy is right. He was desperate and in such pain and he did what he only ever fantasized about before.  
  
It must be how demon’s get most of their souls. Desperate, hurt people. It’s not surprising, when he thinks about it.  
  
Credence pulls on the pajamas, the finest silk he’s ever touched, but they’re not a comfort. He’s cold still, despite his warm skin, and he steps out of the bathroom and looks around a dark hallway. To the left is a closed door, but to the right is the open living room and the kitchen across from it. He walks closer and sees Percy at the fireplace, coaxing the flames to rise with only his hand.  
  
He looks at Credence. “Come warm your bones up, Mister Barebone, and stop fretting so much.”  
  
“That’s… that’s easy for you to say, you know,” Credence mumbles, a little terrified by his own daring, but Percy only smiles. He walks closer and Percy gestures at the sofa in front of the fire.  
  
He sits down stiffly, but there’s a wool blanket on the armrest and he grabs it, throwing it around himself and shivering.  
  
“You’ll be fine by morning,” Percy says as he watches Credence, his eyes black in the firelight. “Sleep. I’ll be back after dawn.”  
  
Credence bites his lip and nods. Percy winks and then disappears, in between one blink and the next, and Credence flinches in surprise. He supposes he should have expected it, that’s how he got Credence here, but it’s still a shocking thing to see.  
  
He looks around the apartment and is tempted to get up and run, run all the way until he gets back to the church, but he thinks Percy is right. Ma would claim that he’s a witch or has been touched by one and she might actually kill him, if it meant ridding the world of that sort of wickedness.  
  
And Percy had said he would know if Credence left anyway.  
  
Credence’s eyes begin to feel heavy, when the fire and the pajamas and wool blanket eventually warm him up. He lays down and watches the flames flicker for a while and hopes, when he closes his eyes, that he will wake up back in the church or perhaps somewhere else altogether, far, far away from here.  
  
But Credence is not so lucky in his life and, sometime later, he smells coffee and hears the rustle of paper near his feet.  
  
He opens his eyes, just a little, and sees that it’s daylight and he is still in the apartment. He doesn’t think he’s moved an inch but the fire is freshly fed and he sees a cup of steaming coffee on the table in front of him. Swallowing, he braces himself before he sits up a little and looks at the end of the sofa.  
  
Percy is there, just enough space for him to sit, considering Credence was curled up. He’s got the newspaper and he’s scanning it and it’s such a bizarre thing, that a demon might read the newspaper.  
  
“Good morning,” Percy says and glances at Credence. “You look better.”  
  
Credence isn’t quite sure what to say to that. He sits up more, keeping the blanket wrapped around him, and tentatively reaches out, picking up the cup of coffee. He doesn’t drink it himself, Ma won’t allow it, but he’s always thought that it smells good. It doesn’t mean he wants to drink coffee that Percy has given him though.  
  
“It’s not poisoned,” Percy says and sounds amused as he flips a page of the newspaper. “Though some people prefer it sweetened.”  
  
“Do you?” Credence asks quietly as he breathes in the steam and finds that it’s relaxing.  
  
“I’ve always had it black,” Percy says as he picks up his own cup from the end table next to him and holds it up toward Credence. He takes a drink and sets it aside. “I visited the Second Salemers Church this morning.”  
  
Credence stiffens, holding the cup a little closer, and bites his lip. He’s afraid to ask what Percy did there, imagining all sorts of terrible things, not just to Ma, but to Chastity and Modesty too.  
  
“And?” he finally manages, hushed and shaky.  
  
Percy tsks. “I took a look around,” he says. “I wanted to get an idea of what might drive you to summon someone like me. The state of that place alone.”  
  
“You were able to go inside a church?” Credence asks feebly.  
  
“Your mother might claim it’s a church but it’s not holy ground,” Percy says with some amusement. “They didn’t know I was there and I only glanced around. You have a very charming bedroom.”  
  
Credence frowns and takes a small drink of the coffee, before it might get cold. It’s bitter and a little acidic, but he thinks he needs that right now and takes a longer drink. He thinks Percy is making fun of him, for what he lives his life in, even after he’d seen what Ma did to him.  
  
“When I was done, I talked to your mother,” Percy continues, oblivious to Credence spilling a little bit of the coffee when he jerks in surprise, or not caring, “I’m tempted to give you this one for free.”  
  
“My… what?” Credence asks as he gapes at Percy. “Why did you speak to her?”  
  
“I told you, I wanted to get an idea of why you summoned me,” Percy says and folds the paper, tossing it onto the coffee table. He looks at Credence. “I knocked on the door and asked for directions. Your mother is the least charming woman I’ve ever met.”  
  
“She knows when people are lying to her,” Credence mutters. “She knew you weren’t really asking for directions.”  
  
Percy frowns. “You vastly underestimate my ability to lie,” he says. “I’ve been doing it much longer than she has. You now, you’re a bad liar, but she expects that.” He hums, drumming his fingers on his thigh, still dressed in the black suit from last night, but the coat is gone. “I shook her hand and saw her for who she is. I’m surprised you didn’t crack earlier.”  
  
“I try to protect Modesty,” Credence says quietly. “If I’m not there, she’ll turn to her. I was… I was going to ask you to protect my sisters, if I asked for anything else first.”  
  
“Kill your mother, protect your sisters, and take your soul for it,” Percy says and shakes his head. “That’s not worth my time.”  
  
Credence wants to cry. He doesn’t want to ask Percy what is worth his time, because offering his soul, when he knows how it feels to not have one, at least a bit, is more than enough. He doesn’t want to give him anything else, except perhaps his life, and maybe then only in exchange for protecting his sisters. But he thinks that deal would be even less satisfying to Percy.  
  
He’s afraid he’s going to have to crawl back to the church and endure whatever his mother has in store for him next. He’ll walk in healthy and unharmed and she will ensure the next time he leaves won’t be that way.  
  
Credence sniffs and wipes his nose, setting the coffee aside, his stomach queasy. “You said I would owe you something for wasting your time,” he says slowly. “If I choose not to have… have a contract with you.”  
  
“I did,” Percy says as he gazes at Credence. “I’d say you owe me twelve hours.”  
  
“Twelve... hours?” Credence asks. “What do you mean?”  
  
“You’ve likely delayed the corruption of those gentlemen by twelve hours,” Percy says with a smirk. “So you owe me twelve hours.”  
  
“Of what?” Credence asks. “My time? My life?”  
  
“Twelve hours of your time is twelve hours of your life,” Percy says and smiles as Credence frowns. “One hour, for the next twelve days. I would advise you to stay here, rather than return to the church, because I don’t feel like expending the energy to heal you every single day.”  
  
Credence gapes at him. “I told you, I can’t leave her to hurt my sisters!”  
  
Percy shrugs. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t, but it’ll cost you more time.”  
  
“How can you make sure she doesn’t?”  
  
“Because you’ve summoned the right hand of the Devil, Credence, and you’ll find I can do anything I want. That I can make anything happen,” Percy says quietly, but sternly, and it sends a shiver of fear up Credence’s spine.  
  
The shiver of interest is more alarming.  
  
“Your sisters won’t be harmed. It’s done,” Percy says and stands. He moves closer to Credence, until he’s standing in front of him and his fingers move through Credence’s hair, the same way they had before Credence had even heard his voice. He leans down, his lips near Credence’s ear. “But you owe me twenty-four hours for it.”  
  
Credence bites his lip as he shivers again, not entirely in fear, but Percy is gone as quickly as he had come, and Credence hears his footsteps disappear behind him. He puts his head in his hands, his heart thumping wildly, and doesn’t know what to do.  
  
He doesn’t think he can deny Percy this, but he also doesn’t know what Percy will ask of him in those twenty-four hours. It’s not a lot, really, but spread over twelve or twenty-four days and it seems like a lifetime. Percy might ask him to do horrible things, like hurt someone, and he curses himself, for being desperate.  
  
For letting the thought of hurting his mother get the best of him. He was supposed to be better than that.  
  
And yet there was excitement burning in his gut, when Percy had spoken, and he thinks he truly must be wicked and destined for Hell for that alone.  
  
Credence looks around the apartment. It doesn’t look like a prison but he’s not sure if Percy will let him leave either, until he’s finished with him. He supposes there could be worse places to spend his time. He gets up, his muscles stiff from being on the sofa for so long, and walks into the kitchen.  
  
The cabinets, pantry and refrigerator are stocked with food. He gets the feeling Percy doesn’t need to eat, so it must be for him.  
  
He hears Percy and looks up as he walks into the kitchen, his long black coat back on.  
  
“There are plenty of ways for you to occupy your time in here,” Percy says. “I would prefer for you to stay close. But if you feel the need to stretch your legs, by all means. Just don’t venture too far.”  
  
“Or you’ll know?” Credence asks a bit dryly.  
  
“That’s right,” Percy says with a laugh. “I’ll be back tonight.”  
  
“What exactly are you looking for from me, in those hours?”  
  
“Why ruin the surprise?” Percy asks with a smile. “Behave yourself.”  
  
He disappears and Credence stares at where he had been standing for a while.  
  
Credence doesn’t think he can trust anything Percy says and yet, when he thinks of Chastity and Modesty, he does. Ma will not hurt them, though he doesn’t know what that means exactly, and finds that maybe he doesn’t want to. But his sisters will be alright and that’s enough.  
  
He walks to the windows and stares out at Manhattan and thinks about his life. A life of pain, a life of agony, with no end in sight. Enough to push him into summoning a demon, though he is now too scared to make a deal with him, but he thinks about what that means. What it says about his life and him.  
  
When Percy is done with him, if he hasn’t taken Credence’s soul or life, where will Credence go? Not back to the church, but he still can’t leave his sisters there to rot away, just like he’s rotted away.  
  
Maybe he can convince Percy to find them better lives, away from Ma, and give him whatever he asks for in return. He’s not sure if he’s strong enough to do certain things a demon might ask for, but he can’t assume what that is for now.  
  
And there’s the other part, that one that’s deep down, that had felt a certain excitement, a thrill when Percy had touched him, had whispered in his ear, had told him he could do whatever he wanted. It’s shameful and it makes his cheeks burn, but he can’t pretend he hadn’t felt it.  
  
Credence finds something to eat and wanders the apartment. It’s larger than he thought and... normal. There isn’t anything about it that would say a demon owns it. The books on the shelves are normal books, not anything about Devil worship, and he grabs a few and sits on the sofa.  
  
Reading will keep his mind occupied, which is why he spends some of his days in the library, when he can. He’s not well read and it takes him hours to read very little, but it’s been getting easier.  
  
When Percy comes back that evening, the sun has long since set, and it’s snowing outside. Credence has kept the fire burning through the day, enjoying its sweet scent, and the warm light, and has tried not to think that this is the most at ease he’s felt in years.  
  
“I want you to come out with me,” he hears Percy’s voice behind him.  
  
Credence yelps and fumbles with the book. He turns and looks over the sofa and sees Percy in the kitchen, leaning against the breakfast bar, smirking at him.  
  
“Can you please...” Credence trails off and decides it’s not worth it. Percy would probably ask him for more hours for every favor _he_ asks. The gleam in Percy’s eyes tells him he’s exactly right. “Where?”  
  
“Out,” Percy says. “Go find some clothes to wear. Preferably warm ones.”  
  
“Is this our first hour?”  
  
“Yes. I’ll start the clock when we get outside,” Percy says with a roguish sort of wink.  
  
Credence blushes but he stands and walks down to the bedroom that Percy points at. It’s the master bedroom and there is a closet that he walks into, turning on the light. There are a lot of clothes to choose from but he grabs the warmest that he can find and sighs to think that a demon has managed to give him the finest things he’s ever had.  
  
“Good,” Percy says when he walks back out. He holds out his hand.  
  
Credence takes it.  
  
They’re outside, the cold sudden and shocking against his cheeks, and he blinks as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks around. They’re on a street corner he’s not familiar with and it’s not bustling with people like Manhattan would be.  
  
A woman’s scream rings out, loud and terrible, echoing around the buildings and street. He’s so used to hearing people scream, but there’s something worse about it tonight, in the snow and where no other people are about, and he flinches.  
  
He sees her then, across the street, pushed up against the wall by a large man who appears to be threatening her.  
  
Credence isn’t sure which one Percy is here for and it makes his stomach churn, threatening to make him sick.  
  
“There’s ugliness everywhere you look, Credence,” Percy says. “Some people choose not to look and some people ask for help. Sometimes they turn to God and sometimes they turn to the Devil. Some people do all of them eventually.”  
  
The way he looks at Credence when he says it makes his heart race faster. He is one of those people, he knows, and he doesn’t know what Percy is trying to tell him.  
  
Percy touches his hand and they are on the other side of the street, behind the man and woman, who Credence can hear whimpering. Percy steps forward and touches the man’s shoulder and he whirls around, a knife in his hand, but Credence sees his shade then, like he saw his own, when the man stumbles back, falling.  
  
His soul is still standing, Percy’s hand touching it, and it’s screaming, Credence sees, but there is no sound coming from its mouth. He stumbles back himself, gasping, shaking from far more than the cold.  
  
The soul disappears into the concrete below and Percy turns to the man, who scrambles back on the sidewalk, his knife forgotten.  
  
The woman, not much older than Credence, watches, tears in her eyes, but she looks angry. She knew this would happen, Credence realizes. She has already asked for Percy’s help.  
  
Percy kneels in front of the man and he must be talking, but there’s a rush in Credence’s ears, thumping in time with his rapid heartbeat, and he thinks about running, about running all the way back to Manhattan, to get away from this, to get away from the work of demons, the work of desperate, hurt people.  
  
When Percy touches the man’s forehead and he falls limp onto the sidewalk, Credence doesn’t have to be any closer to him to know he’s dead. Percy stands and turns to the woman, who is silently crying as she watches him, and nods at whatever he says. She glances at Credence only once before she turns and leaves.  
  
“W—What… what happened?” Credence asks, his voice high and terrified, as Percy walks toward him. “Did she already give you her soul?”  
  
“Not yet,” Percy says simply. “We made a different sort of deal.”  
  
“But you said… you said mine wasn’t worth your time, what did she offer you? Why would you kill him if she hasn’t given you her soul?”  
  
Percy merely smiles. “Time is her punishment,” he says. “I gave her time and she accepted it. When her time runs out, her soul is mine for the taking.”  
  
Credence shivers, wrapping his arms around himself. “What sort of punishment is that?”  
  
“Time to sit with what you did to someone else, no matter how evil they were, is punishment enough for some people, Credence,” Percy says.  
  
“You’re torturing her,” Credence accuses and there are hot tears in his eyes.  
  
“I didn’t force her to accept the deal,” Percy says. “If this is how she wants to reconcile it within herself, that’s her choice.”  
  
“Why’d you take me here?” Credence asks weakly. “Why? I don’t want to see this, I don’t want to know what you do to people.”  
  
Percy watches him, like he’s merely some curious creature behind caged bars. “Yet you would have asked me for something similar, if I had let you continue to bleed.”  
  
Credence flinches and turns away, brushing tears off his cheeks and trying not to start hyperventilating. He feels Percy’s hand on his shoulder and doesn’t have the time to shake it off, because they’re back in the apartment, and Credence stumbles.  
  
He grabs the back of the sofa and stares down at it, blinking quickly, and doesn’t know what Percy’s game is. If he enjoys watching Credence in pain, if his punishment is to watch people die, to watch other people make the same choice he had been so close to, he doesn’t know.  
  
“Please,” he whispers. “I can’t do this. Please, Percy, take what you want from me.”  
  
“I am, Credence,” Percy says, close to him.  
  
“No,” Credence says and looks up at him. “I don’t want to see these things. I’ll give you anything you ask for, if you protect my sisters. Please.”  
  
Percy watches him, eyes so dark, and moves his hand to Credence’s cheek, brushing away his tears. “Twenty-three more hours, Credence,” he says softly. “Your sisters are already protected. That’s what we agreed on.”  
  
“I can’t do this for that long,” Credence says, voice broken.  
  
It hits him squarely in the chest, that he might have to see these things for twenty-four entire hours, and he thinks it would be a fitting punishment, withering him down to nothing, for the sins he’s committed. But he doesn’t think he can stand it.  
  
Percy smiles, gently. “I think you can,” he says and cups Credence’s cheeks, pulling him up, so he’s forced to look him directly in the eye. “I think you’re perfectly capable of watching what people do to each other. You’ve been doing it your entire life.”  
  
“Not like this,” Credence says desperately. “Not a demon’s work.”  
  
“You think your mother is any different from a demon? She may say it’s in God’s name or it’s to rid the world of witches, but do you think she is so different? Inflicting pain, taking souls, leaving hollow shells in her wake? Do you think you haven’t been watching a demon's work your entire life?”  
  
Credence yanks away from him and walks around the sofa. He sits heavily down, because his knees threaten to collapse under him, and he holds his head in his hands.  
  
Percy’s right, he knows. He has been watching evil, he has been at its hand, and he has done nothing about it, not until now. And he is still not going to do anything about it, he thinks, and perhaps that’s the point Percy is trying to make. Credence has been a victim of evil, but he’s also been a bystander of it, and he’s still too weak to make sure it ends.  
  
It hurts, immensely, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Percy hasn’t left, is still standing behind him, and Credence isn’t sure if the hate burning in his chest is for himself or Percy.  
  
“Please,” he whispers and he isn’t sure what he’s asking for. To be free of this, for Percy to have mercy on him, for Percy to end it all, whatever that means.  
  
Percy’s fingers move through his hair again and the touch is gentle and might be a comfort, if it was a different time and place.  
  
“Twenty-three hours, Credence.”  
  
And then he’s gone.  
  
——  
  
Percy doesn’t come back in the morning or in the afternoon.  
  
Credence tries not to think about last night, but he can’t help it. He’d had nightmares about it, lying on the sofa, until he decided to stop trying to sleep in the early hours of the morning. He’s taken a shower and tried to read, but he’s distracted now. It’s hard to eat, his stomach not well, and he wants to leave.  
  
Stretch his legs, like Percy had said. Let the cold wake him up a little, make him feel something other than fear and a crushing sadness, that he has done this to himself. But he’s too frightened to leave, too frightened he’ll go too far and Percy will come and show him something else he doesn’t want to see.  
  
There’s liquor in the apartment and Credence holds up a bottle of whiskey and thinks about drinking some. These are the sorts of things that drive people to drink, he knows, but when he smells the whiskey, it’s enough to turn him off from the idea.  
  
He finds himself sitting on the sofa and staring at the fireplace, watching the embers float up the chimney, eyes heavy, far more than just his body that’s tired. It’s nearly ten and that’s when he feels Percy.  
  
Credence thinks if he had been paying attention before, he would have felt him last night too. But his presence is sudden and the hairs on the back of Credence’s neck stand on end.  
  
“I don’t want to go,” Credence says, because it is late now and the later it gets, the worse things always are.  
  
“And yet you will, all the same,” Percy’s voice says.  
  
Credence looks up, at the other end of the sofa, where Percy is standing behind it, leaning against it. His arms are over his chest and he’s not wearing black tonight. He’s wearing a handsome three-piece grey suit and Credence thinks it fits him better than the black, which is odd, considering black is the Devil’s color.  
  
There’s a red rose in the pocket of his jacket and Credence stares at it, thinking it means something, but he can’t figure out what.  
  
“Get dressed. Something nicer tonight.”  
  
Credence looks at him and thinks about begging. But this must be his penance, he thinks, and he gets up and walks into the bedroom. It takes a while to choose something nice, but he follows Percy’s lead and dresses in what someone might call his Sunday best. When he rejoins Percy, he nods his approval and holds up his hand, in which he holds a white rose.  
  
It’s real and alive and Credence brushes his fingers over the soft petals before he puts it in his own pocket. “What sort of work do you do that requires dressing like this?”  
  
“All kinds,” Percy says. “But I am a professional. It’s best to look the part.” He holds out his hand.  
  
Credence sighs, gently, but he takes it.  
  
They’re in a hospital. The coldness and the smell is almost more overwhelming than appearing in a snowstorm and the lights are painfully bright after the low light of the apartment. Nurses and patients wander the halls and don’t look at them in such a way that Credence feels they must not see them.  
  
The idea causes fear to run up his spine but when he looks at Percy, he’s merely smiling, and it’s not cruel or tinged with curiosity. He doesn’t think it should make him feel better, but it does.  
  
Percy leads him down the hall until they walk into a large hospital room, likely meant for more than one patient, but there is only one man lying in a bed, and he is surrounded by various men, dressed finely, all wearing hats, and Credence has the distinct impression these are not businessmen.  
  
They seem to unknowingly make a space for Percy and Credence at the man’s bedside, but they don’t look at them either, they only gaze solemnly at the man, who is elderly, but he is strikingly familiar to Credence.  
  
He’s a mobster, one of New York’s finest, and he is dying. His eyes are still bright, blue and chilling, and Credence wonders how many deals with the Devil he’s struck.  
  
He looks at Percy and smiles, holding up his hand, until Percy takes it.  
  
“Just in time,” he says. “I wondered if you might have forgotten our deal.”  
  
“I don’t ever forget a deal,” Percy says. “Have you made up your mind?”  
  
The old man nods. “I have,” he says. “I think I did sixty years ago.”  
  
Percy merely smiles. “Tell me.”  
  
“Forgive the boy,” the old man rasps. “And take the rest.”  
  
“Done,” Percy says and presses his hand against the man’s forehead.  
  
Credence feels a rush of cold near his ankles and inhales sharply, because he thinks he knows what it was. The old man’s eyes are different now, more lifeless, and Credence knows that his soul has been taken. It’s not violent like last night and yet something else has happened, something Credence doesn’t think will be kind.  
  
When Percy removes his hand, the old man gazes at the other men in the room and with one final breath, he is gone. Percy plucks out the rose and sets it on his still chest and Credence does the same, because he thinks Percy will expect it.  
  
They leave the room and Credence breathes in deeply, shaking, and he’s afraid to ask. Afraid to ask what deal he had made with Percy and yet he’s burning with morbid curiosity.  
  
“What did he mean?” he asks Percy, weakly, as he looks at him. “Forgive the boy and take the rest?”  
  
Percy smiles. “Sixty years ago he sought a deal with me. Kill his brother and I could have his soul whenever he died. An easy deal to make because the line of work he was in promised a great many souls in Hell without requiring my interference,” he says. “But I told him that making me wait until the day he died required more than that.”  
  
“Other souls?” Credence asks though he doesn’t really want to know.  
  
“The women he loved or the children he would have,” Percy says. “I knew he would regret damning his brother the way he had. I told him if he gave me his childrens’ souls, I would free his brother. If he wanted his brother to stay where he was, it would be the women he loved throughout his life.”  
  
Credence stares at Percy. “He chose his brother and the women he loved,” he says quietly. “Over his own children.”  
  
Percy smiles. “You can’t expect everyone to have a soft heart, Credence,” he says. “Or to take the path that seems most kind. Asking me to kill his brother was an act of desperation, much like yours would have been. He’s lived with that for sixty years.”  
  
“But they were still his _children,”_ Credence says. “Children are supposed to be more important…” he trails off, his lip wobbling and looks away.  
  
He knows perfectly well some people look at their children as expendable. He’s lived it and he knows to some people, the love of a partner or a sibling is more important than anyone else, even if it shouldn’t be that way.  
  
The man might have damned his children, but he might have treated them well in life. Credence doesn’t know, but he does know that nothing is without complications. He knew that early on. That nothing is truly easy.  
  
Maybe he can’t judge why people turn to a demon for help or the deals they make with them. He would hope that someone looking at him would have understood, if he had made the deal he wanted to, when he was bleeding and dying in the cold.  
  
Credence is exhausted. He feels it in his bones and he knows he can’t do this every day. He can’t watch someone die, can’t learn why it happened, can’t hear the deals that Percy makes, that will always be unfair to someone, that are just a game for him.  
  
“We’ll round up the hour,” Percy says and touches Credence’s wrist.  
  
They’re back in the apartment and Credence looks around the now familiar walls, the familiar furniture, the fireplace, still roaring, not capable of burning anything down, he thinks.  
  
He looks at Percy, who is gazing back at him. Percy is teaching him a lesson, one that hurts, and he’s not sure if he’s going to come out of it with his sanity, as a better person, as someone who no longer has a soul. Or even his life.  
  
“We’re going to do this every night,” Credence says quietly, not really a question.  
  
“Maybe,” Percy says and moves his hand to Credence’s cheek. “Maybe not.”  
  
Credence wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, because Percy’s hand is warm and he is cold, cold in a place that he doesn’t think any warmth will ever reach, even if he keeps chasing it.  
  
He closes his eyes and expects Percy to leave, to disappear until tomorrow night, but his hand moves to Credence’s and he finds himself being pulled along down the hall.  
  
“Try the bed tonight, Credence,” Percy says with some amusement. “You need the comfort and the rest.”  
  
It’s on the tip of Credence’s tongue to ask for more comfort than just a bed, but he shakes himself of that thought. Percy isn’t a friend to him, he isn’t on his side, and Credence won’t take false kindness, just because he’s so desperate for any sign of it.  
  
He changes into the pajamas and climbs into the bed and curls up, shivering, and wonders if the hollow feeling in his heart will ever go away. It’s not the same as no soul, but it’s torture nonetheless.  
  
Percy’s fingers run through his hair and Credence lets him do it, letting it pull him into sleep, with only the hope that no nightmares find him tonight.  
  
——  
  
It’s much the same for the next two nights.  
  
Percy takes him out of the apartment and leads him to a scene of death that leaves Credence trembling and teary. It doesn’t get any easier, nor any less shocking, but he hears their stories and thinks no one is really that different after all.  
  
An old woman who sold her soul and promised her life one year ago so that her son could be cured of a terminal illness smiles when she sees Percy, but it's no less awful to see her die.  
  
A young man, who asks Percy to take his soul instead, and free his brother’s, who has already made a deal of his own, and when Percy tells him he requires more, he gives him his life.  
  
On the third night, Percy takes him to a crossroads a few hours north of the city, because he’s been summoned. Credence watches him talk to a man ten or so years older than Credence, who wants to sell his soul, to achieve wealth and security, to advance further than his parents told him he would, and Credence is perhaps more horrified by this than anything else.  
  
He yells then, for the man to stop, because he doesn’t know what it’s like to live without a soul. That he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with his ambition and who he might hurt. But the man doesn’t hear him, only keeps talking to Percy, who manages to make the deal even sweeter for himself, and eventually they shake hands and the deal is done.  
  
“You made it so he couldn’t hear me,” Credence says angrily, when they’re back in the apartment. “So he couldn’t see me.”  
  
“I knew you were likely to interfere and that isn’t your place,” Percy says as he walks into the kitchen and opens the liquor cabinet. He gets two glasses and pours the whiskey into them, pushing one across the breakfast bar toward Credence.  
  
“You don’t tell them what they’re getting into! You promise them riches and happiness but they’ll be empty and they’ll hurt people and they’ll… one day they’ll be in Hell, tortured and tormented forever,” Credence says, fisting at his hair, tears in his eyes.  
  
“Not forever,” Percy says. “Eventually they’ll be made into demons themselves and will be fit to make their own deals.”  
  
Credence gapes at him. “You weren’t always…?”  
  
Percy smiles and takes a drink of the whiskey. “Is it so surprising?”  
  
“So your soul was tormented and you came out of it wanting it to happen to other people?” Credence asks. _“Why?”_  
  
“You have to remember that these people come to me, Credence. Just like you did,” Percy says. “They come to me for help but help will always come with a price when you’re bargaining with a demon. It’s a job, not a service given freely.”  
  
“How can you stand it? How can you stand to watch people suffer and how can you sentence them to it?” Credence asks desperately.  
  
Percy watches him with a faint smile. “If you had given me your soul, your life, one day you would have been doing the same. You would accept what you asked for,” he says quietly. “The price it cost you, even if you want to pretend you didn’t know that from the beginning.”  
  
Credence looks away and brushes a few tears off his cheeks. He knows Percy is right, is always right, that he knew what it meant when he drew the pentagram. He hadn’t cared anymore, because he thought death might be better. That Hell and damnation would be better than the hell and damnation he faced at his mother’s hands.  
  
He sniffs and picks up the glass, looking at the amber liquid before he takes a sip of it. He winces at the burn and sets it aside, sighing shakily. “Why did you make a deal?”  
  
“That’s a very personal question, you know.”  
  
Credence frowns as he looks at Percy. “You don’t seem like the type of man to care about personal questions, Mister Graves.”  
  
Percy smirks a little and tips the rest of the whiskey back. “I asked for someone I loved to be saved,” he says and shrugs. “He demanded both my life and soul and I gave them freely.”  
  
“How long ago?”  
  
“Many lifetimes now,” Percy says as he looks at the empty glass, then at Credence. “The world is a much different place today.”  
  
“How long have you been a demon?”  
  
“Nearly as long.”  
  
Credence frowns as he thinks about that. “I thought souls were tormented for a very long time.”  
  
“It feels longer than it is but my… sentence, if you will, was shorter than what’s considered average.”  
  
Credence’s heart races and he stares at Percy, a lump in his throat. “Why?” he asks carefully, afraid of the answer.  
  
Percy smiles, like he knows it. “Because I’ve always been ambitious, Credence. Because I succeed in everything that I do and I exceed expectations as I do it.”  
  
“So someone saw your potential as a demon instead of a soul being tormented,” Credence says and moves closer to the sofa, to lean heavily against it. “As a salesman.”  
  
Percy laughs. “If you’d like,” he says. “I do know how to strike excellent deals.”  
  
“But you didn’t with me,” Credence says. “You’re hurting me for wasting your time but you didn’t try and strike a deal with me.”  
  
“No,” Percy agrees. “This was more fitting for you.”  
  
“Why?” Credence demands.  
  
“Careful, love,” Percy says, but his voice is soft, almost a caress. “There are ways I can still ensure your soul will belong to me.”  
  
Credence feels fear then, but it’s mingled with his anger. He thinks Percy is trying to make a point with all of this, to teach him that lesson, but that means he isn’t taking Credence’s soul and from the sounds of it, he doesn’t plan to. He wants to question him more, but he thinks he shouldn’t push.  
  
Because if Percy never plans to kill him or take his soul, then one day he will no longer owe him anything, and he will be free to move on. To find something better for himself, though the idea of it is still so terrifying that tears burn in his eyes. He doesn’t have an education or work experience, he can’t take care of Modesty on his own, and Ma wouldn’t let her or Chastity go anyway.  
  
He sniffs and looks at Percy. There’s still one thing he wants to ask, but he’s not sure how Percy will take it. Perhaps he should wait, but he’s waited too long already.  
  
“I want to see my sisters,” he says quietly. “Please.”  
  
Percy gazes at him with a smile. “I wondered when you might ask,” he says. “Sure. Whenever you’d like.”  
  
“I can go tomorrow morning then?”  
  
“We can, yes.”  
  
Credence frowns, but he supposes he couldn’t expect anything else. “Alright,” he says and sighs, with some relief. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Percy says, amused, and pours himself another glass of whiskey.  
  
“Where do you go?” Credence asks. “When you leave here for the night?”  
  
“Various places. I am very busy. Meetings and collections and every once in a while, I find myself summoned and end up in a pentagram or at a crossroads. Sometimes I even have to visit the office.”  
  
Credence grimaces. He won’t be asking any questions about _that_ and Percy knows it, chuckling, low and husky, from the whiskey, but it makes something in Credence’s stomach tighten, to hear it.  
  
He rubs his hands over his face, his cheeks warm, because as much as Percy frightens him, angers him, there’s always been something about him that’s been intriguing. He reminds himself that it’s supposed to be that way - entrapment, to get as many souls as possible, and Credence won’t let him take his. Even if he meant to not so very long ago.  
  
Some of what his mother says to him, some of the reasons she gives for taking a belt to his hands or back, he knows are true. She can’t know that, he’s hidden it so well, but she assumes, because he’s never shown interest in anyone before.  
  
He would likely enjoy the same punishment if he did show interest in a woman, even a good Christian woman, one that would join the church. Because it might make him happy and Ma would never allow that.  
  
But he doesn’t have interest in women and he’s kept his interest in men locked away inside, because he knows it is not only illegal, but sinful. That merely lying with another man would ensure his eternal damnation anyway.  
  
Credence doesn’t think anything he does in his life will ever ensure anything but that and it makes him tired to think about it. If he already faces Hell, perhaps he won’t worry about it, once Percy is long gone.  
  
Of course, he’s too frightened to even protect himself, so actually committing sins might be a long time off, if he ever could do it at all.  
  
“Stop fretting so much,” Percy says, an odd sort of affection in his voice. “Go to sleep.”  
  
“That’s still easy for you to say,” Credence mumbles. But he doesn’t look at Percy as he walks to the bedroom, though he feels his eyes on him, and changes into a pair of the silk pajamas.  
  
They’re always cool on his skin at first, but they fit perfectly, everything in the closet has so far, and he wonders how immense a demon’s power truly is.  
  
Percy’s power.  
  
Credence climbs into bed and curls up, not sure if he still wishes he would wake up in the church, nothing different, all of it just a nightmare. He has comfort here, solitude and peace, except for their nightly outings.  
  
He knows his sisters are safe. The wish for it to stay this way is particularly strong tonight and he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think of freedom, only a few weeks away.  
  
——  
  
Percy is there in the morning and Credence wonders if he ever actually left, because he’s sitting on the sofa and the whiskey bottle is empty.  
  
But he’s not drunk, Credence doesn’t think he could ever be so, and after Credence has forced a bit of toast down his dry throat, they leave the apartment and appear across the street from the church on Pike Street.  
  
No one seems to notice their sudden appearance, either by Percy’s doing, or by staring down at the icy sidewalks as they walk, dressed in thin clothing and fighting the cold, on their way to work. The orphans are surrounding the church, hoping for an early bowl of hot soup, and Credence’s heart aches as he sees them.  
  
He knows he can’t go into the church, but it isn’t long before the doors open and he sees Chastity and Modesty step out. They look cold and irritable, but they are uninjured, very much alive, and Credence sags with relief.  
  
Modesty looks at him then and he smiles timidly, but she turns away and looks at one of the orphaned girls, smiling and taking her hand. They walk together down the street as Chastity shouts after her to not be long, before she enters the church, telling the children to wait a bit longer.  
  
Credence’s heart sinks. “Why didn’t she… she didn’t recognize me,” he says, a startling realization, and an icy one. “Why didn’t she recognize me?” he asks Percy in a panic as he looks at him.  
  
Percy rests his hand over Credence’s shoulder. “They won’t until our time is up. To protect them I had to remove you from their lives. But don’t worry,” he says with a wry smile. “As soon as my protection ends, they’ll remember you just fine. It’ll be like no time has passed for them. If you want, you can walk into the church the morning after we’re done and they’ll think you left it the night before, beaten half to death by your mother.”  
  
Credence is shivering. “How does making them forget me protect them from her?”  
  
“Because I made them forget they’d ever been hurt by her,” Percy says. “As far as your mother goes, a little power of persuasion never hurt.”  
  
“Power of…” Credence trails off and shakes his head. “You’re controlling her?”  
  
Percy shrugs. “It’s not hard to do,” he says and smiles. “They’re living more peacefully now than they ever have before. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”  
  
Credence stares at him and bites his lip. He sees now why he had to pay a higher price for this and thinks that Percy could have asked even more of him for it. That he would have given him it, if it meant this, even for just a few weeks.  
  
He wonders what he would have to give Percy to make it something that continued happening. That Ma never hurt anyone again, that Modesty and Chastity grow up without pain or the reminder of it, to hopefully break free of Pike Street and find better things, somewhere else.  
  
It’s an intense, desperate longing, for both of them, and he remembers what Percy said that first night.  
  
 _Isn’t it amazing, Credence, what desperation and pain pushes us to do?_  
  
Credence closes his eyes and tries to push it away, because he won’t seek out Percy’s help. Not again. He won’t give a demon what he ultimately wants, because he can truly only want Credence’s life and soul. Perhaps he is steadily trying to push Credence into giving them to him, but that doesn’t feel quite right either.  
  
He’ll have to find a way to give his sisters freedom, in his own way.  
  
After he’s looked at the church again, knowing Ma or Chastity won’t be out for a while more, and Modesty will be playing with her friends until the bell rings, Credence looks at Percy.  
  
Percy touches his hand and they’re back in the apartment.  
  
“Thank you,” Credence says and takes off his thick winter coat. He sets it on the breakfast bar and moves around to the sofa, sitting down heavily and putting his face in his hands.  
  
Percy’s fingers move through his hair a moment later. “They’re happy, Credence, for a little while.”  
  
“I’d rather they lived their entire lives happy. Or at least content,” Credence says, muffled against his hands. He drops them and sniffs, looking out of the windows. “You have to know it hurts me to know they’ll remember it all in a few weeks.”  
  
“They don’t have to,” Percy says. “They can never remember it. You only have to ask.”  
  
“No,” Credence says, as firmly as he can, though it pains him to do so. “I’ll find a way on my own.”  
  
Percy doesn’t say anything in response to that but Credence has a peculiar feeling that he’s pleased with him in some way, which he doesn’t quite understand. He closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feeling of Percy’s fingers in his hair, a comfort he’s never felt before, even if it’s from the demon that tends to emotionally traumatize him every day.  
  
Eventually Percy moves away and Credence looks out of the windows, when it begins to snow. He’s tired and wrung out from all of this but the sight is beautiful and he reminds himself that there is beauty in this world, no matter how much Ma tried to hide it from him.  
  
Credence smells coffee and when Percy comes around the sofa, he hands Credence a mug with a plate of fruit, something Credence has been enjoying immensely, though it makes him feel guilty to eat any.  
  
Affording a few oranges now and then was difficult enough.  
  
Percy sits next to him once he has his own cup of coffee and puts his feet up on the coffee table and Credence glances at him.  
  
“Don’t you have people to corrupt?”  
  
“Met my quota for the week,” Percy says, but Credence knows he’s joking. “I have a lot of people under me, Credence, they’re out doing the Devil’s work for me.”  
  
Credence wrinkles his nose and picks up an orange slice, taking small bites, to savor it. “How did I manage to summon you of all demons?”  
  
“I told you, I was in town,” Percy says. “It normally calls to who is closest. But you also offered blood, which was of particular interest to me. Most people say the words. Offering blood is the old way.”  
  
Credence blinks for a while before he huffs. “I didn’t even mean to,” he says and shrugs as Percy raises an eyebrow at him. “I think my hand just happened to land in the pentagram when I laid down to die.”  
  
Percy chuckles. “Aren’t you lucky,” he says and smirks as Credence shoots him a glare. “Isn’t that what your kind call fate?”  
  
“My kind?” Credence asks dryly. “My kind believe in divine fate, not whatever you’re called.”  
  
“Demonic fate just doesn’t sound the same, does it?” Percy asks and takes a drink of his coffee.  
  
“Divine punishment,” Credence says as he takes another bite of the orange.  
  
Percy points at him. “That’s it,” he says. He looks out of the window, at the snowfall. “What caused her to escalate the beatings?”  
  
“How do you know it escalated?”  
  
“The scarring from the lashes would have been far more extensive than what was there previously.”  
  
Credence grimaces and picks up a piece of sliced apple, ignoring the strange fact that Percy has peeled an orange and sliced an apple for him. Or maybe he just snapped his fingers. But he didn’t have to all the same.  
  
“I had been saving money all year long, so I could get out of there one day. It wasn’t much, but getting close enough to get me a room somewhere, in Brooklyn or Queens, maybe. She said it was my avarice, keeping it to myself, an abandonment of my family,” Credence says and stares at the snowflakes as he remembers her looming over him. “She said I deserved to die for it. After she was done, she told me I could come back if I survived the cold. That she’d leave that up to God. I know you’ll find that amusing.”  
  
But Percy doesn’t laugh. He merely gazes at Credence, the look on his face largely unreadable, though there’s something in his eyes Credence hasn’t seen yet. It’s not pity, it’s not sympathy, but something in between.  
  
“I’m sure what you had seen her do was mild in comparison to other things you’ve seen,” Credence says, hoping Percy is distracted, because the look in his eyes is making him feel strange.  
  
“I think physical abuse can’t particularly be compared. It’s subjective, really. Especially a parent inflicting it on a child,” Percy says. “Battered women would likely tell you you have it far worse.”  
  
Credence bites his lip and supposes that’s probably true. “I know you enjoy what pain does to people,” he says slowly. “I know you enjoy it when it drives them to you. Demons in general. Are there no angels that interfere, like demons do?”  
  
Percy smiles and is quiet for some time. “Angels don’t interfere with human nature. Demons capitalize on it,” he says carefully. “That’s the difference between us.”  
  
“Why? Why would angels not want to stop suffering?”  
  
“They do, Credence. When someone dies,” Percy says. “But not outside of that.”  
  
Credence nibbles on an apple slice and ignores the sting in the back of his eyes. “Why are you allowed to interfere?”  
  
“There’s as much power in the Devil as there is in God because a balance has to be struck. Dark and light, they have to be equal.”  
  
“But it’s not equal,” Credence argues. “It’s not equal if you’re allowed to come up here and corrupt people. If you’re allowed to kill people and take their souls. It’s not equal if angels aren’t turning people toward the light while you take them toward the dark.”  
  
Percy smiles and looks at Credence. “But you’re forgetting the most important part of humanity, Credence,” he says. “That, deep down, people are inherently good. You might not have experienced it but it’s the truth. Most people are good and they don’t commit sins foul enough to be anything but good. If there’s to be balance, we _have_ to meet a quota.”  
  
Credence stares at Percy for a while. He sets the plate aside and rubs his hands over his face. He’s not sure if he’s more comforted by that or not. He looks at Percy helplessly.  
  
“God lets you corrupt people to keep the balance.”  
  
“The Devil only corrupts so many to keep the balance.”  
  
“What would happen if the scales were tipped?”  
  
“Raptures and apocalypses,” Percy says with a shrug and smirks as Credence gapes at him. “Or maybe it’s all bullshit, Credence. Stories fed to us by higher powers because it’s a game to them and humanity was an experiment.”  
  
Credence shivers and looks away. “I prefer to think of it the other way,” he mumbles. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re a demon at all.”  
  
Percy chuckles. “What else might I be?”  
  
“A witch,” Credence says. “That’s been lying to me from the start.”  
  
“You doubt what you’ve seen?”  
  
“No. Sometimes I doubt that I understand what I’ve seen.”  
  
“Well,” Percy sighs. “We’ve still got quite a few more nights to go. Maybe you’ll have a deeper understanding by the time you’ve given me what you owe me.”  
  
Credence sighs at the reminder of that. The mess he’s gotten himself into. “Once you’re gone, I’m going to try and convince myself you were never here to begin with.”  
  
Percy smiles and takes a drink of coffee. “One thing about me, Credence, is that I am utterly unforgettable.”  
  
“You’re an asshole,” Credence says and is rather shocked by his own words, but he won’t back away from them. “And every one of them I’ve met is eventually forgettable.”  
  
Percy only laughs.  
  
Credence supposes he has quite a while before Percy will make him go out into the city or somewhere nearby, and he curls up in the corner of the sofa, pulling the wool blanket around himself. He watches the snow fall for a while and doesn’t bother asking why Percy sticks around.  
  
“Are all the sins in the Bible actually sins?” he asks after a while and through a yawn.  
  
“Of course not,” Percy says. “Everyone would be a sinner if they were.”  
  
“Which ones would get you sent to Hell?”  
  
“The ones you might think. Murder, rape, abuse, war crimes. Things of that nature.”  
  
“Sleeping with your neighbor’s wife?”  
  
Percy chuckles. “Neither God nor the Devil care who you take into your bed, as long as it’s truly consensual.”  
  
Credence frowns. “Men lying with men and women lying with women is considered so sinful they’ve made it illegal.”  
  
“People interpret the Bible and other texts to fit what makes them comfortable. If it makes them uncomfortable, it’s easy to tell everyone else they’re sinners destined for Hell or to outlaw behaviors altogether.”  
  
Credence’s heart races a little faster at that and he pulls the blanket up to his chin. He’s been told he’s a wicked, sinful boy for years, for what his mother suspected, and he isn’t sure if he wants to cry or laugh, to hear it never really mattered. That she is the one going to Hell, because of the abuse she’s committed on her children.  
  
“It seems to me that people would be happier if they stopped reading the Bible and enjoyed their fellow humans more,” Percy says. “Though I’d have to work even harder if they did so I do prefer to see them fearful.”  
  
“Of course,” Credence says wryly. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  
  
He takes the blanket with him, wrapped around his shoulders, and walks down to the bedroom. He closes the door behind himself and sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at his knees. His heart aches and the tears do come, because the magnitude of what Percy has told him is becoming more apparent.  
  
It never mattered. None of what she’s accused him of would ever matter in the eyes of God, if Percy is to be believed.  
  
Years upon years of fear, of pain, all because a woman he calls mother decided what was sinful herself. Credence and his sisters have suffered her and he is often afraid of his own shadow because of her.  
  
He accepted some of the beatings as deserved because of thoughts he knew were wicked. He prayed for forgiveness for them and hoped he would be given it someday.  
  
And it’s never mattered.  
  
He believes Percy on this, though he doesn’t know why. It doesn’t seem like something he would lie to him about.  
  
Credence sniffs and wipes away a few tears. He’s angry, but he feels rather hollow as well, because he’s suffered it already. There is no taking it back, even if it was for nothing, and the pain will always be there. It’s permanently fixed to his body, to his mind, and he doesn’t think it will ever truly go away.  
  
And it was for nothing.  
  
He’s heard people talk about life changing moments and he thinks this must be one, but the hollowness in his heart only grows wider, more consuming.  
  
Credence doesn’t have the desire to leap up and declare things different. He wants to lie down and sleep and forget about it all, maybe forever, because it is going to ruin his mind one day, before it might ever help him.  
  
He’s exhausted and everything Percy has been showing him hasn’t helped.  
  
People might be inherently good, but that doesn’t mean that the evil ones are any less damaging. Credence looks up at the ceiling, tempted to ask for help, but he won’t get it. He feels abandoned, more than he ever has, and wishes he could turn back time.  
  
Not before the last beating, but all the way back to the beginning, when a kind looking woman walked into the orphanage and asked if he wanted to call her mother.  
  
The door opens and he flinches in surprise as he looks up at Percy. Percy walks in, steps in front of him and moves his hand up, brushing away a fresh tear from Credence’s cheek.  
  
“Humans make life so complicated,” Percy says. “When it’s not. When you realize that it’s all bullshit, that you can do whatever you want because it doesn’t matter, it gets easier.”  
  
Credence stares up at him. “That’s not true though,” he says quietly. “I can’t just do whatever I want. I have to have an education, money, a job—”  
  
“What I mean, Credence,” Percy interrupts with a smile, “is that fears don’t matter. You just have to reach out and take what you want. If you want to pursue those things, the fear that holds you back, that’s been holding you back, keeping you under your mother’s thumb, don’t matter. Heaven and Hell don’t matter.”  
  
Credence closes his eyes and hangs his head. “It’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be,” he says. “How do I forget thirteen years of my life? How do I tell myself they never mattered?”  
  
“Those years eventually led you to me,” Percy says softly, moving his hand to Credence’s jaw, forcing him to look up. “Everything you’ve chosen to do, everything others have chosen for you, led you to me. You get to choose where you go from here. What you do with the next thirteen years.”  
  
It’s a strange thing, he thinks, for a demon to tell him. It might be motivational, with good intentions, but he doesn’t think he can trust that. Percy has only helped him by taking from him, not because there’s kindness in him, and Credence frowns, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
They have so many more days to go and Credence still doesn’t know what waits at the end for him.  
  
Credence looks at Percy, his handsome face, and wonders what he was like, before he made his own deal. If he was truly kind. He must have been, if it was to save someone he loved, and he aches to know that man. To talk to him, without the influence of a demon, to hear any wisdom he might have offered.  
  
“Please tell me what’s going to happen after this,” Credence says. “Please tell me what you really want from me.”  
  
Percy smiles, stroking his thumb over Credence’s chin. “We already have an agreement. Nineteen hours and we’ll both have met it.”  
  
“You’re hiding something from me,” Credence says quietly.  
  
“Am I?” Percy asks. “Or are you only afraid something worse is around the corner, like it always has been?”  
  
“This isn’t a game to me, Percy,” Credence says and his voice wavers with tears, with hurt.  
  
“No,” Percy agrees. “You’re assuming it’s a game for me.”

“You said death was your game and that you loved to play it.”  
  
Percy smiles again. “Yet I haven’t asked it from you and you haven’t offered it.”  
  
“Are you trying to get me to? Please, Percy, I’m so tired. If I have to do this nineteen more times, please just tell me.”  
  
“It’ll be over soon, love.”  
  
And he’s gone, just like that. Credence stares at where he had been standing for a while before he closes his eyes and puts his head in his hands and if he cries, well, Percy isn’t around to hear it.  
  
——  
  
Credence watches Percy work for five nights. Taking souls or lives, but not making any deals. He knows that Percy said he doesn’t do it himself very often and Credence is glad for it, because he’d probably scream himself raw trying to get them to hear him.  
  
The hardest thing Credence thinks he’s seen is the man who offers his soul and begs for his life to be taken, because he feels he has failed as a father and husband, and wants a better life for his family. Percy agrees, but the man asks if he can take his own life, and Credence doesn’t have the time to realize why they’re standing on a rooftop and why he should look away.  
  
He collapses to the ground and brings his knees to his chest and gasps and cries and he knows Percy watches him through it. It’s a terrible thing, a truly terrible thing to witness, though he has thought about doing it himself before.  
  
How could he not, the life he lived? The hopeless future he could always see ahead? But he’d been told it was a sin so powerful he would end up in Hell, just one of many ways, and he asks Percy if it’s true. If ending your own life means eternal damnation.  
  
“No,” Percy says. “Because we don’t interfere in human suffering unless they come to us. Angels don’t interfere unless you’re already dead. Choosing to end pain and suffering is noble and brave, though in my experience there are far better solutions that require no deals with demons or someone’s death. It takes work and courage to push through hopelessness and come out alive and better for it, but it can be done.”  
  
“But you wouldn’t have talked him out of it, if you weren’t going to take his life yourself,” Credence says, tears thick in his voice. “You would have just let him do it.”  
  
“It’s not my place to save people, Credence. Not unless I’ve been given something in return.”  
  
“You’ve never actually helped anyone because you wanted to, have you? Not since you were a man. Maybe not even then.”  
  
Percy’s fingers move through his hair but Credence jerks away from the touch. His hand falls to his shoulder instead, squeezing it. “You know very little about me,” he says. “You seem to mistake professionalism for complete apathy.”  
  
Credence stands abruptly and the change in environment, back in the apartment now, doesn’t even throw him as he turns to look at Percy. “Your professionalism _is_ complete apathy!” he hisses. “You haven’t shown one ounce of sympathy for anyone you’ve spoken to! Their circumstances don’t move you, you don’t offer help unless you get something in return, you _laughed_ at my pain. You’re a demon, though, so I suppose I can’t speak to any bit of you that was ever human. You’ve been moulded by Hell and the Devil.”  
  
Percy merely watches him as he speaks. He only looks calm, not angry or amused. It’s not a surprise when he opens the liquor cabinet and pulls out a fresh bottle of whiskey. He only brings out one glass and pours himself some. Credence wonders if that is the only human side of him left, the one that enjoyed alcohol, once upon a time.  
  
“A balance must always be struck,” Percy says and ignores Credence’s frustrated groan. “So I do my job as it’s required of me. It doesn’t mean I don’t understand the pain that pushes people to me.”  
  
“Understanding and sympathizing with it are two entirely different things,” Credence says and sniffs, reaching up to wipe tears from his cheeks. “You just let him jump. You didn’t tell him he could fix things.”  
  
“You have a soft heart, Credence,” Percy says with a faint smile. “A kind one. That’s a rarity not only in this city but in the world. Maybe if you hold on to that, instead of assuming I have any other choice in my profession, you can be the good you want so badly to see.”  
  
Credence shakes his head and looks away. “Demons can’t walk away? Can’t do something else? They’re always tied to the Devil?”  
  
“Most of them,” Percy says but he doesn’t explain when Credence frowns. “I told you. When people become demons, they accept their choices and making deals of their own is easy. We all understand why someone would ask to begin with because we all asked at the beginning ourselves. Just like you would have.”  
  
“And you still haven’t told me why you didn’t demand more from me. Why our agreement is as simple as it is,” Credence says. “There’s a reason I think you’re hiding something from me.”  
  
Percy smiles before taking a drink of the whiskey. “I think you’re a very paranoid individual,” he says and smirks a little as Credence scowls. “Maybe you should accept the agreement for what it is. We never even shook hands. I don’t have leverage over you that you aren’t seeing.”  
  
“But you are hiding something,” Credence says. “I learned how to sniff that out a long time ago, Percy.”  
  
“Even from demons?”  
  
“According to you, my mother isn’t any different than you.”  
  
Percy frowns. “There are certainly more charming people to compare me to,” he says. “But yes, she is demonic.”  
  
Credence sighs and runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why I talk to you,” he says helplessly. “You lost whatever heart you had the day you died.”  
  
“There are no demons with hearts of gold, Credence. You knew that well before you drew that pentagram.”  
  
“Stop offering me false kindness then,” Credence says. “Stop pretending you care about me in some way. Or anyone else.”  
  
Credence walks away, into the bedroom, and closes the door firmly behind himself, locking it. He thinks he never would have been able to speak to someone this way just two weeks ago, but Percy angers him. Everything about all of this angers him and most of all, he’s livid with himself for starting it.  
  
He thinks it might have been better if Ma had just killed him to begin with. He would have gone to Heaven and had his pains taken away and Ma would eventually go to Hell, though Credence hopes she wouldn’t have tormented Chastity and Modesty too badly.  
  
But that thought makes him angry too. That he would have left them there to torment, if she had killed him, and it doesn’t sit well with him, thinking it might have been better. It wouldn’t have been.  
  
Credence has never been so mixed up in all his life and while he blames himself, he also thoroughly blames Percy. Percy who intrigues and frightens him, Percy who pisses him off and offers him coffee and fruit. Percy who kills people for a living and Percy who strokes his hair until he falls asleep.  
  
He changes into softer clothes and sits on the bed, grabbing the book he’s been reading the last few nights to try and ease him into sleep, to keep the sights he’s seen out of his head. It doesn’t really help, but the nightmares haven’t been as severe the last few nights. He doesn’t know why that is, but he doesn’t want to question it either.  
  
Credence is a little too wired for sleep at the moment, so he arranges the pillows against the headboard, to find some comfort.  
  
“I’m willing to give you a night off tomorrow, if you ask for it.”  
  
Credence flinches in surprise, dropping his book on his thigh as he turns to his left and looks at Percy, who is lying next to him, hands behind his head.  
  
“You—” Credence cuts himself off and closes his eyes. He takes in a breath and decides telling Percy he’s an asshole will only make him laugh. “I locked the door for a reason.”  
  
“This is my apartment and my bedroom, you know.”  
  
“And you don’t use this bedroom.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Maybe because you’re out every night attending meetings, corrupting people, and taking their souls and making me watch you _do it!”_  
  
“I’ve got your blood boiling tonight, haven’t I?” Percy asks, amused, as he looks at Credence.  
  
Credence is breathing deeply and he purses his lips, sitting back against the pillows and holding tightly onto the book. “I can’t ask for a night off,” he says. “Because you’ll want something in return. I’m not giving you anymore hours of my life.”  
  
“I am perfectly aware of that,” Percy says with a smirk. “I wouldn’t ask you for more hours.”  
  
“I don’t want to know what you’d ask me for,” Credence mutters and rubs at his eye. “I want this over with, I don’t want to add another night on.”  
  
“Then we won’t. We’ll consider it one of your hours but we won’t collect a soul or life.”  
  
“No,” Credence says and pointedly opens his book. “I’m not giving you anything else.”  
  
Percy hums. “Alright,” he says. “If you’d rather continue collecting.” He shrugs. “But I wouldn’t have asked for much.”  
  
He’s gone then and Credence frowns as he looks at the empty space on the bed. He hears something out in the living room and knows Percy hasn’t gone far. But he knows this is still a game for him, even if he had tried to say it wasn’t. Credence won’t give in.  
  
He thinks he’s never going to give in to anyone again.  
  
Of course, by the middle of the night, Credence is still wide awake. His eyes ache, dry and heavy, and he is bone tired, but he can’t seem to turn his brain off. He keeps replaying what Percy had said - a night off, considered one of his hours, with no collecting.  
  
With no watching anyone die or their soul get taken out of them, but something else. He wants to believe that a night off has to be a good thing but Percy is still a demon, first and foremost, and he can’t trust anything he says.  
  
Even if he rather desperately wants to. The idea of a night off has burrowed itself in his mind and he stares up at the dark ceiling and wonders.  
  
Credence gets out of bed, achy and irritable, and walks to the door, quietly unlocking and opening it. The apartment is dark, just the moonlight shining in from the windows in the living room, and he walks into it and frowns.  
  
The fireplace is cold, the sofa empty, and he knows Percy isn’t in the other rooms in the opposite hallway. He can feel Percy’s presence, when he’s close, but he hadn’t felt him leave tonight. He’ll blame Percy for that as well, mixing him up enough that he’s let his guard down in some way.  
  
He walks to the huge windows and stares out of them, at the city still twinkling with light, blanketed in white and grey and blue. The east river is dark but he can see lanterns on a few boats, perhaps belonging to the city or fisherman rising particularly early. He can’t imagine how cold it is on the water and pressing his hand against the glass is nearly too much, but he lets the coldness soothe an ache inside of him.  
  
Credence closes his eyes. “Percy,” he whispers, his breath fogging the glass. He looks out of the window again when he doesn’t feel Percy’s presence.  
  
He’s never tried it, but he supposes it wouldn’t work that way. Percy has only said he’d know if Credence wandered too far, not if Credence ever uttered his name when he wasn’t there.  
  
Credence sighs a little and rubs his hand over his forehead. He wants to leave, to take a walk, but the cold reminds him of that night. His back feels stretched and he smells the tang of blood on the air when he thinks about it. He shakes himself and looks over the city again.  
  
He knows he might have resorted to praying on a night like this and yet he can’t find it in himself to do it, knowing that prayers don’t really matter. If you don’t commit foul sins, you go to Heaven, but God nor angels interfere when you pray for help.  
  
It’s all rather disheartening, a joke even, and Credence wonders what godly people would say, if they knew.  
  
There’s a sudden rush in his heart and Credence inhales in surprise, glancing to the right in the window, and he knows whose reflection he’ll see.  
  
Percy is there and Credence doesn’t know if it’s because he called for him or he just happened to come home.  
  
Not that this is his real home.  
  
Credence turns around and looks at him, dressed as finely as ever, leaning against the breakfast bar and peering at Credence.  
  
“What would you ask me for?” Credence asks quietly.  
  
Percy doesn’t answer immediately. He walks closer to Credence, until he’s standing at his side, looking out over the city. “That you accompany me tomorrow night,” he says. “For something other than my work.”  
  
Credence watches him, his profile, touched by moonlight and wishes, again, that he knew Percy in a different way. “And do what?”  
  
Percy smiles and looks at Credence. “You’d see tomorrow night,” he says. He chuckles as Credence frowns. “A night off, remember. It won’t be unpleasant.”  
  
“I have a feeling it won’t be pleasant though,” Credence says and sighs, when Percy only shrugs. “No watching people have their souls taken or watching them die?”  
  
“You have my word.”  
  
Credence doesn’t trust that at all, and Percy doesn’t make him shake his hand, and he’s not sure if he trusts him more or even less because of it. He sighs and thinks he will regret this.  
  
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go with you tomorrow if I don’t have to watch any of that.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
Credence knows Percy says it to fluster him but he only huffs, too tired to get as worked up as he was earlier. He rubs his eyes and nods.  
  
“Try to get some sleep, love. We’ll go a bit earlier in the evening, but you have time to sleep in.”  
  
“Alright,” Credence says and looks at Percy. He’s gazing back and there’s a softness to his eyes that Credence still doesn’t understand, that still scares him.  
  
No one looks at him that way. Like they care about him, care about his well being (to a certain extent anyway), except maybe Modesty and this is not the same sort of softness she has, not a familial one.  
  
“Did you know I was awake, that you came?” Credence asks.  
  
Percy raises his eyebrows. “I came because you called for me,” he says. He smiles, when Credence looks away. “Didn’t think it would work? You don’t need to draw a pentagram anymore to summon me.”  
  
Credence blushes and doesn’t know why he does. “Okay,” he says and if he was any braver, he thinks he’d summon Percy all throughout the day, to maybe drive him as crazy as he’s driving Credence. “Good night.”  
  
“Good night, Credence,” Percy says and there’s something amused in his tone, like he knows where Credence’s thoughts have gone. “Be ready at five, wear something nice.”  
  
“Fine,” Credence says and walks back to the bedroom. He crawls into bed, holding a pillow against his chest, and exhaustion has caught up now.  
  
He thinks he feels Percy’s fingers in his hair, but maybe it’s only a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nervous as hell about this one, but I'd really love to hear your thoughts! The second chapter is softer. Thank you for checking it out so far!


	2. Chapter 2

Credence sleeps late and takes a hot shower in the afternoon to try and wake himself up. It doesn’t, really, but it relaxes his shoulders. After getting something to eat, he reads, but it’s nearly five before he knows it.   
  
He can only imagine what Ma would have to say about sleeping in until one and tries to push that out of his mind, because he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.   
  
Percy said to wear something nice and Credence is tempted to wear the least nice clothes that are in the closet, but unfortunately they’re all nice. And he doesn’t think Percy will be bothered by childish inconveniences anyway. He’d probably just laugh at Credence, more than he does already.   
  
Credence chooses a black suit and looks at himself in the mirror for a while. It doesn’t look right on him, he thinks. It’s too nice and he’s too pale, dark rings under his eyes, and his hair is still the way Ma always cuts it. He looks like he’s pretending to be a man that might wear something so expensive and he thinks New York's finest could point him out and declare  _ that man there, he’s not one of us, put him back where he belongs! _   
  
He leaves the bathroom before he can rip the suit back off and puts on his coat and when he walks into the living room, Percy is there. He looks flawless in his grey suit, as he always does, and Credence curses him a little for it. For being able to blend in anywhere, if he wanted to.   
  
“Looking good, Mister Barebone,” Percy says as he glances up from the newspaper on the breakfast bar.   
  
Credence frowns at him and doesn’t know if he’s being made fun of or not. “Why do you read that?” he asks instead.   
  
“It’s nice to keep up with what’s going on on the surface,” Percy says as he closes the newspaper. “I don’t have much time to hear about it in any other way.”   
  
“But why do you care?”   
  
Percy shrugs. “I find it interesting,” he says, “what humans find interesting.”   
  
Credence remembers what Percy had said then, about humanity being an experiment and shakes that thought away too. Maybe he likes to keep up on the newspaper because he was human once upon a time ago and he enjoyed that sort of thing.   
  
“Are you ready to go?” Percy asks, a faint smile on his face.   
  
“Yes,” Credence says.    
  
The sun is just beginning to set and he wishes it would stay up a little longer in the winter, because night has only brought about pain for him and he doesn’t know what Percy’s leading him to. But when he holds out his hand, Credence takes it all the same.   
  
They appear on a sidewalk, only a few people walking along it, but none of them notice their sudden appearance, something Credence is still getting used to. He looks around and recognizes 46th Street. They’re standing in front of a restaurant called  _ Barbetto’s _ that Credence has seen many times, but it’s a ritzy sort of place, set in a few beautiful brownstones.   
  
Percy walks up the stairs and holds the door open for him and Credence frowns as he walks inside. There’s a man dressed in a fine suit behind a podium and he smiles at Credence, but lights up when he sees Percy.   
  
“Mister Graves, sir! Wonderful to see you,” he says. “This way, gentlemen.”   
  
Credence blinks as they follow the man and looks around the elegant restaurant. There are many people dining here, on Italian food that smells better than he thinks any food ever has, dressed well, smiling and laughing.   
  
“Your usual table, sir,” the man says as he pulls out a chair for Percy, then Credence. “Mister…?”   
  
“Barebone,” Credence manages to croak out as he sits but the man only smiles cheerfully.   
  
“Welcome in, Mister Barebone.”   
  
Percy is smirking at Credence when he looks at him. “It’s a restaurant, Credence, try to relax.”   
  
“Well, I didn’t expect you were taking me to get food,” Credence says as he looks around, then down at the thick menu, opening it. “Is that what you’re doing?”   
  
“It’s not all about to go up in flames, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Percy says dryly. “I haven’t been out in a while.”   
  
“Who do you usually take to this sort of place?” Credence asks as he looks at the various Italian dishes and wines printed on the menu.   
  
“Many different people,” Percy says. “For many different reasons. Businessmen I’m working like these restaurants. So does the mafia, for that matter. Sometimes I even take people I simply enjoy the company of.”   
  
Credence hums. “You don’t seem like the type of person to have friends,” he says as he glances at Percy. “You’re too smarmy for that.”   
  
Percy laughs, with genuine amusement. “Smarmy, that’s a good word,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been described as that before but I suppose there are firsts for everything.”   
  
Credence looks down at his menu, smiling, and won’t tell Percy he only just learned what that word means yesterday. “Do you have any friends?”   
  
“I do, in fact,” Percy says. “More than one, even.”   
  
“I would have thought demons wouldn’t get along with other demons.”   
  
“Who says they’re demons?” Percy asks as he leans back with a smile. A waiter comes by with a bottle of wine and two glasses and pours some into both. “Thank you,” Percy says before he looks at Credence again. “My friends are in higher places.”   
  
“Like the surface?” Credence asks archly. “So you’ve got human friends.”   
  
Percy shrugs. “When you spend a lot of time with someone, sometimes you end up friends,” he says as he picks up the wine and swirls it.   
  
Credence frowns at him and takes up his own glass. He smells the wine and is surprised that it smells as good as it does, but he’s still a bit wary about drinking it. He watches Percy instead and furrows his brow.   
  
“You’ve done this to someone else before,” he says. “What you’re doing with me. Not a deal, just an agreement, that keeps you coming around every day.”   
  
Percy merely smiles and sips the wine, setting the glass aside after. “You’ll like it,” he says, gesturing at Credence’s glass.   
  
Credence sighs at the lack of answer but he takes a drink anyway. He coughs after, not entirely sure how it can taste so different than it smells, but beyond the initial shock of tartness, it tastes like berries and something bitter, but not unpleasant. A bit like coffee.   
  
He ignores the way Percy is smiling at him, like he’s something amusing, something to laugh at, and takes a smaller sip, and it’s far less powerful.   
  
“It’s alright,” he says as he sets the glass down. “I don’t think I’ll be able to drink a whole glass.”   
  
“You might be surprised how well it goes with pasta.”   
  
Credence is surprised how well it goes with pasta, after they’ve ordered and received their food. It’s richer than anything Credence has eaten, pasta with some kind of pink creamy sauce and lamb meatballs. He’s not sure he can get through it all, but he’s been eating richer foods for over a week now, and the wine seems to help.   
  
Percy isn’t any rush either, it seems, lounging in his chair like he owns the place, sipping his wine slowly, coaxing Credence into conversation.   
  
They end up talking about many different things, staying away from all the demon and Hell business, and the pain Credence has been living. Percy asks him what he would do, if he could choose anything, and Credence tells him he’d help people. If he was smart enough, he could be a lawyer or a teacher. Or a doctor. He knows he’ll never be those things, he would have needed to live a different life altogether, but he doesn’t know why he tells Percy he could be an artist.   
  
He likes to draw, if he ever finds a piece of paper and something to draw on it with, which isn’t common, but he’s not terrible, especially not when his arm is frozen and he’s trying to draw pentagrams in the snow. Or when he’s afraid his mother will end up looming over his shoulder and declare him wicked for sketching what Pike Street looks like from his window.   
  
Percy listens and smiles, when Credence tells him that, and it’s almost normal.   
  
Credence could mistake this as a dinner with a friend who is interested in what he has to say, who cares to listen, who wants to make him laugh, like Percy does, when he tells Credence stories that have nothing to do with what he is.   
  
At least he doesn’t think so, but they are nice stories, and Percy’s voice is nice too, and he likes him better this way.   
  
They have freshly made cannoli for dessert and Credence has never had one before and is surprised it’s not nearly as sweet as he thought it’d be. But it’s good and so was the wine, he realizes, when he looks at his glass and sees that it’s empty, as well as the bottle.   
  
An older woman walks around the tables as they’re getting ready to leave and Credence raises his eyebrows as she squeezes Percy’s cheek and talks to him in fluent Italian, her tone teasing and sweet, like a grandmother.   
  
When Percy smiles, the same charming smile that always throws Credence, and responds back in Italian, he feels a flutter in his stomach, in his heart, and isn’t as alarmed by them as he thinks he should be.   
  
Of course his cheek gets squeezed after that and Percy laughs at him as he blushes, but the woman, Anna, tells him he’s handsome, her Italian accent thick and comforting and Credence is overwhelmed by the familiarity of it all.   
  
“Bring this one back in,  _ angelo,” _ Anna says as she pats Credence’s hand.  _ “Molto bello, _ like an angel himself! Come see us again.”   
  
She pats Credence’s cheek and walks away to greet another table and he knows he’s red, can feel the heat in his face, as he looks at Percy helplessly.   
  
“Italian grandmothers, Credence,” Percy says with a smile. “There’s no one else like them.”   
  
“She’s very nice,” Credence says a bit breathlessly. He wonders what it’s like to be in a normal family, with a doting grandmother, and it makes him want to cry, but he thinks that might be the two full glasses of wine. “She said  _ this one,  _ like you bring in a lot of… young men.”   
  
Percy raises his eyebrows and looks like he wants to laugh, but he pulls out money instead, leaving it on the table. “I told you I do bring a lot of people in here,” he says. “You’ve probably got the kindest face of them though.”   
  
Credence isn’t quite sure how to take that and frowns for a while. He isn’t sure if Percy brings his so-called friends in here, who maybe aren’t demons, if he’s telling the truth, and it’s such an odd thought. That Percy has people he likes and isn’t trying to murder them or steal their souls away.   
  
That he might just enjoy a plate of pasta and a glass of wine with them and good conversation.   
  
It makes his head swim a little, that Percy might be doing this because he enjoys Credence’s company, but he remembers their agreement all too well.   
  
They leave the restaurant and the bitter cold outside wakes Credence up, clears his head somewhat, and he shivers, burrowing more into the winter coat, warmer than anything he’s ever worn.   
  
Percy touches his shoulder and he expects to see the apartment, but it’s Central Park that opens up to him.   
  
Credence looks around in surprise. They’re by the large pond and there are people ice-skating on it, laughing, and he thinks he smells kettle corn. It hits him then, unexpectedly, what day it is, nearly taking him off his feet.   
  
He’s been so worried about his situation, about his sisters, about what Percy means to do to him, that he hasn’t been paying attention to the date. He’s been too focused on their nightly errands and wishing they were over with, counting down the days owed, that he’s forgotten.   
  
“It’s Christmas Eve,” he says quietly as he looks at people bundled up in the cold. They’re walking the path with paper cups steaming in their hands or eating kettle corn and there’s garland hung from lamps.   
  
“It is,” Percy says but his eyes are on Credence. “Something else too.”   
  
Credence looks at him suspiciously. “How do you know?”   
  
“Didn’t I tell you the answer will always be that I’m a demon?” Percy asks with a smirk. “Come on.”   
  
They walk toward the pond and Credence doesn’t even see it happen, but Percy has a blanket in his hands, and when they get close to the frozen water, he lays it on the ground. When Credence sits, he’s surprised to feel grass underneath him, not snow, and wishes it was magic. That Percy was only a witch and the worst he ever made Credence feel was drunk on wine.   
  
“I thought I was going to die here not too long ago,” he says, though he doesn’t know why he does.   
  
“Now you’ve aged a year here,” Percy says as he watches people skate. “Happy birthday.”   
  
Credence bites his lip. “Thank you,” he says quietly.   
  
“You’re welcome.”   
  
If he had gone back home that night, or the morning after, today would be very different, Credence knows. Another birthday he dreaded, worse every year. This one has almost been pleasant.   
  
“You could’ve just told me you wanted to take me out for my birthday,” Credence says and smiles, a little, when Percy chuckles.   
  
“You never would have believed me.”   
  
“Part of me still doesn’t.”   
  
“I suppose I can’t blame you for that,” Percy says as he looks at Credence. “But you accompanied me out and the agreement has been met.”   
  
Credence huffs and smiles, looking up at the sky. It’s a clear night, the stars twinkling, and the moon nearly full. “Any way you can jump through time so our other one has been met too?”   
  
“Tempting,” Percy says. “Only thirteen more hours.”   
  
“I already feel like I’ve been doing this for a lifetime. That’s another one,” Credence mutters. “I don’t know what’s waiting for me at the end of this, but if you wanted to teach me that there are other ways to help myself rather than summoning a demon to kill someone and take my soul, I’ve learned it.”   
  
Percy looks amused as he gazes at Credence. “So what will you do, when we’re done?”   
  
“I’ll find my own way, like I told you,” Credence says. “I’ll find my own way to get my sisters out of there. Or just Modesty, if it has to be that way, because Chastity won’t come willingly. Even if we have to leave New York, I’ll take Modesty somewhere safe and I won’t be afraid anymore, because I want to give us a better life. I’m not going to watch her grow up and face everything I have. She’s faced too much of it already.”   
  
“Sounds an awful lot like you’re reaching out and taking what you want.”   
  
“Because it’s all bullshit,” Credence mumbles in agreement, though he feels vaguely like he should pray for forgiveness for cursing. “The fears that hold me back.”   
  
Percy hums. “It must be hard for you,” he says, his tone light, “to realize the wisdom of a demon holds some water.”   
  
“It’s extremely hard for me, Percy,” Credence says and smiles when Percy chuckles. “I just don’t know why you gave me wisdom at all.”   
  
“Hell’s not a place for you, Credence,” Percy says and Credence’s stomach tightens, because it’s almost lethal, the serious way in which he says it. “Neither is being a demon.”   
  
Credence stares at him, his heart hammering suddenly and uncomfortably, his palms sweaty. He thinks of everything Percy has said to him, this is the most honest thing yet. He’s not lying and Credence would normally think himself foolish for believing that, but he knows it, knows in his heart that Percy isn’t lying to him.   
  
“Have you been trying to save my soul by showing me what you do? So that I don’t summon another demon someday? Become one?”   
  
Percy’s hand moves up and over Credence’s cheek, his fingers impossibly warm, trailing down to his jaw. “You’ve been an innocent your entire life. There’s no wickedness in you, Credence, the way there is in some people who are just born that way. You were born a child of light and it was the choice of others to push you into drawing a pentagram. You’re a pure soul and it was still purity that made you do it.”   
  
“I did it because I wanted someone to kill my mother,” Credence says hoarsely, tears in his eyes. “That’s not purity.”   
  
“You wanted the pain to stop,” Percy says. “People jump from buildings because they want the pain to stop, not because they want to die. You didn’t want your mother dead. You wanted your suffering to end and your sisters’ suffering to end.”   
  
Credence is shaking, from far more than the cold and he blinks quickly, his tears hot, but Percy brushes them away. He’s weeping then, unexpectedly, and Percy’s arm moves around his shoulders. Credence doesn’t know if this is another game but he leans into him and cries into his shoulder and wonders if it’s real.   
  
If what Percy is saying is how he really feels and is the truth of it.   
  
“What makes me so different from other people?” Credence croaks, his hand tight on Percy’s coat. “Why don’t you save them too?”   
  
“Pure souls are hard to come by,” Percy says quietly and rubs Credence’s back. “Almost impossible to corrupt, even for me. It’s easier to guide them elsewhere.”   
  
“You’ve done it before?”   
  
“I have.”   
  
“Why didn’t you just tell me from the beginning? Why did you make me watch all of it?”   
  
“Because it wouldn’t have mattered what I said at the beginning. You would have only believed you were wicked and sinful and you would have ruined yourself eventually. You would have never tried to save your sisters.”   
  
Credence can’t respond immediately, his tears thick, his sobs painful, and he wonders if anyone is watching him cry this way. He thinks they aren’t and what would it really matter anyway? He hasn’t been able to cry like this in such a long time, Ma would never tolerate it and he couldn’t do it hiding away in an alley, because someone would always hear, because someone might take advantage.   
  
But Percy merely rubs his back and squeezes his shoulder and lets him do it without saying a word about it.   
  
Eventually it slows and Credence feels wrung out in an entirely different way than he has for nearly two weeks. His eyes ache and his throat hurts, but there’s relief too, pain lessened in his heart, the weight on his shoulders not so heavy.   
  
He doesn’t pull away from Percy, but he wipes his tears and sniffs, looking out at the people skating on the pond.   
  
“It doesn’t make you angry?” Credence asks. “That you have to turn people away from Hell?”   
  
Percy chuckles. “No,” he says softly. “Not at all.”   
  
“Why? Don’t you have a quota to meet?”   
  
“I’ll meet it all the same,” Percy says. “I’d rather see you go where you belong when it’s time.”   
  
“That seems like the opposite of what you should want,” Credence says and he wants to look at Percy, but he finds he’s afraid to.   
  
“You know very little about me,” Percy says, his arm circling Credence’s waist and pulling him closer.   
  
Credence frowns. “You’ve said that before,” he mutters. “Maybe you should tell me more about Percival Graves.”   
  
Percy laughs. “Should I?” he asks and there’s a smile in his voice. “Not tonight. I have to leave in about sixty-eight minutes.”   
  
“Meeting with the boss?” Credence asks dryly.   
  
“I am the boss.”   
  
“I thought that was the Devil.”   
  
“He and I are very like-minded.”   
  
Credence huffs a little and sits up more, wiping his cheeks again and looking at Percy. “Then who?”   
  
Percy hums. “A different sort of boss,” he says and smiles when Credence frowns. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday.”   
  
“After you’re done scarring me for life?”   
  
Percy laughs. “We can leave the scarring behind, if you want. But you still owe me thirteen hours.”   
  
Credence groans and shakes his head. “What in the world would you make me do with you for another thirteen hours? It’s bad enough watching you work.”   
  
“I said we could leave it behind,” Percy says with a smirk. “Maybe fill our time with something more pleasant.”   
  
“I’m afraid to ask what you find pleasant.”   
  
Percy shrugs. “I find this pleasant,” he says as he looks around. “I find your company pleasant.”   
  
Credence bites his lip and frowns. “You’d be willing to just spend time with me for another thirteen days and call our agreement met?”   
  
“We could shake on it,” Percy says and smirks again, when Credence shoots him a glare. “I’ve made my offer. It’s up to you to accept it or not.”   
  
The suspicion he’s been feeling, for every little thing Percy does or says, is not quite the same anymore. It’s barely there, in fact, and Credence doesn’t know if he’s falling into a trap by starting to trust Percy or not. But he doesn’t think so.   
  
He thinks Percy is being entirely honest and what he offers is peace, nothing more or less.   
  
“Okay,” Credence says. “Deal.”   
  
Percy smiles and Credence thinks it’s not as sharp as it usually is. He looks pleased and Credence thinks about the first time he told Percy he’d find his own way. He felt as if Percy was pleased with him for saying it, something he hadn’t understood then, but now it makes sense to him.   
  
And he doesn’t make Credence shake his hand, just like he didn’t the night they met, and Credence finds comfort in that now.   
  
He doesn’t think he’s special or that his soul is as pure as Percy says, but he supposes he’s not the authority on that, between the two of them.   
  
Credence decides he won’t question it, at least not for tonight. He’s sitting with a demon in Central Park, the way he did on the worst night of his life, but now he suspects it might just be the best.   
  
At least the best Christmas Eve and birthday he’s ever had.   
  
He rests his head on Percy’s shoulder again and closes his eyes and listens to people laugh and smells spiced cider and kettle corn and wonders if freedom truly is within his grasp.   
  
Percy takes him to the apartment after a while and Credence isn’t surprised to see him pour himself a double of whiskey. He still hasn’t found a taste for it himself, but he did like the wine, and wonders if he can ask Percy to bring him a bottle.   
  
He goes into the bedroom and finds pajamas to wear and when he comes back out, the glass is empty. “Do you even feel that?” Credence asks with a smile.   
  
“Hmm?” Percy hums, looking at him. “Ah. No, not unless I make myself, and I haven’t been after that since the old days. It’s the taste I like.”   
  
“You’d be an alcoholic if it made you drunk,” Credence mutters as he sits on the sofa, grabbing his favorite blanket and pulling it to his chin. “How long ago were the old days, exactly?”   
  
Percy chuckles. “A long time, Credence,” he says. “It’s been a long time since I was anything other than what I am now.”   
  
Credence looks over the sofa to frown at him. “Why won’t you tell me how many years that is?”   
  
“Because it’s hard for humans to accept numbers like that,” Percy says with a shrug. “I’ve shocked you enough for a lifetime, I think.”   
  
“You definitely have,” Credence sighs but he’s smiling and that’s such a new thing that he’s tempted to put a stop to it. He looks out of the windows and chews on his lip.   
  
He wonders what it's going to be like, when thirteen more days pass. Where Percy will go off to next, where Credence himself will go. He thinks he should start planning for that. To try and get a job at a factory or store somewhere, so he can begin to save money, for the day he takes Modesty away.   
  
It’s an exhausting thought, that he has to save all over again, and he only hopes he can find a place to live in the meantime. He does have some skills, even if he’s not well read, but he wonders if it’ll be enough.   
  
Credence looks around the apartment and knows he will mourn its loss. If he asked Percy if he could stay there, he thinks he might still ask for something in return, even if he no longer is pushing for that to be anything unpleasant.   
  
Percy’s fingers tangle in his hair and he closes his eyes, because it feels good, and it feels safer now, to let him do it.   
  
“Go to sleep soon, love, catch up a little,” Percy says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”   
  
“Mhmm,” Credence hums. “Good night.”   
  
“Good night, Credence,” Percy says, his hand moving down Credence’s neck, until he gently squeezes the nape of it.   
  
Credence has the desire to ask him to stay, just until the day officially ends, but he knows he has a meeting. And soon his hand is gone and so is he and Credence sighs, gently.   
  
He is tired though, from the last two nights, and he goes into the bedroom to crawl into bed. He pulls a pillow to his chest and stares at the other side, empty, and wonders what it might be like, if Percy was there.   
  
——   
  
Percy isn’t home in the morning, so Credence takes a walk. He goes a bit further than he thinks Percy might have wanted, but he never shows up and tells Credence to turn back.   
  
It hits Credence then, that he doubts Percy will ever do that now. That he still owes him time, but he’s not going to make Credence unhappy anymore, he’s not going to hurt him or frighten him.   
  
He wonders how much of the first few days was real. If Percy was ever truly threatening, if the fear he instilled was real, or if he knew this was how it was going to go all along.   
  
Credence wants to ask but he has a feeling Percy won’t be as forthcoming with that as he was last night.   
  
Percy appears in the apartment in the evening and he doesn’t tell Credence to get dressed. He doesn’t make him leave the apartment at all, but sits next to him on the sofa, and he has a bottle of wine. They share it and talk and watch another snowstorm outside and he knew Percy wasn’t lying, but to see it is different.   
  
It nearly makes him cry again, but he manages not to, and lets himself relax and enjoy Percy’s company. He’s been intriguing from the beginning, yes, mysterious and frightening in an exciting sort of way, but he’s not that anymore.   
  
Credence is reluctant to call him a friend but he feels like one. He makes Credence laugh more now and he tells him about the world and what it’s like, far outside of New York. How it used to be, not so long ago, and Credence watches him as he sips the wine and feels a flutter in his heart again.   
  
Still not as worrisome as it should be, he thinks later, when Percy has left and he is lying down trying to fall asleep, his hand pressed against the empty side of the bed.   
  
It goes on like this for an entire week. They mostly spend time in the apartment but sometimes Percy takes him out to a nice restaurant and sometimes he takes him to get ice cream, arm wrapped around Credence’s waist whenever they stand outside and he shivers.   
  
They visit the church, if Percy is home in the morning, and he watches his sisters, no pain in their eyes, his mother, with a lifeless stare that frightens him, but he knows she’s not inflicting pain on anyone.   
  
When Credence has only five more nights to go, he leaves the bedroom in the morning and blinks for a while at an easel, set in front of the windows. He tentatively approaches it and looks at a variety of papers and pencils and paints laid out on the coffee table.   
  
He stares for a long time and blinks away tears occasionally. He’s still a bit frightened that perhaps someone will tell him he can’t have this, but there is no one here but him, and Credence grabs a large, thick piece of paper and puts it on the easel. There’s charcoal, something he’s always found interesting, and he presses it to the paper and loses track of the rest of the day.   
  
It’s not until evening, when he feels Percy in the apartment, and has moved the lamps around to his liking after the sun set, that he stops and looks at him.   
  
Percy is smiling as he leans against the back of the sofa. “Enjoying yourself?”   
  
Credence blinks a little and looks down at his hands, dark with charcoal and graphite and smears of paint. He laughs and looks up at Percy.   
  
“Yes,” he says. “Thank you, Percy.”   
  
“Have you even eaten anything?”   
  
“...I had toast around three.”   
  
Percy laughs. “Take a break, will you? Get some food.”   
  
Credence smiles and nods as he puts some of the supplies away. He’s not exactly sure how to go about cleaning some things off, but he knows he’ll figure it out. He walks toward the kitchen and doesn’t know what possesses him to stop and turn to Percy instead.   
  
Or maybe he knows exactly what possesses him.   
  
He walks to him and Percy is smiling, gently, like he knows what’s on Credence’s mind and he probably does. Credence thinks he’s probably been waiting for him.   
  
Credence steps close to him, reaching up and holding onto his blue and black and white winter coat, and he’s losing a little confidence, but Percy is there to make up for it. His hands move to Credence’s cheeks and he pulls him close and their lips meet and Credence knows it’s been building to this.   
  
He thinks it was inevitable after Christmas Eve.   
  
Their kiss is slow, tender, but Credence doesn’t want that, he finds. He presses more insistently and Percy lets him, opens to it, and Credence groans, moving his arms around Percy’s neck.   
  
His hands are filthy and he’s sure he’s made a mess of Percy’s coat, of the back of his neck and up through his hair, but Percy doesn’t seem to mind. He can probably snap his fingers and be as immaculate as always, so Credence doesn’t care as he tangles his fingers in Percy’s soft hair.   
  
Percy’s hands move down, to his lower back, pulling Credence closer to him, until they’re pressed more flush together.   
  
He tastes good, like whiskey and something sweeter, though Credence can’t pinpoint it. He doesn’t taste like fire and brimstone anyway and the thought makes Credence laugh, until they pull apart, partly because of that and he needs to breathe.   
  
But Percy doesn’t ask why he’s laughing, only smiles and leans in, kissing Credence’s jaw and down along his neck. Credence sighs in pleasure and he marvels at the fact that that’s all he feels.   
  
He isn’t worried about sins anymore.   
  
He just wants to be with Percy, whatever that means. Even if it’s only for tonight.   
  
Percy kisses him again and Credence thinks he’s more intoxicating than wine has been. His hands move under Credence’s shirt, along his bare skin, warm and firm, but Credence shivers all the same. When Percy pulls back, it’s to tug his shirt up and Credence lets him pull it off.   
  
He pushes Percy’s coat off and moves his hands to his belt, undoing it and letting it fall to the floor.   
  
“Go wash your hands, Credence,” Percy says with a chuckle as he grabs Credence’s wrists. He lifts one, kissing the inside of Credence’s forearm. “And meet me in the bedroom.”   
  
Credence is still plagued by the heat in his face but he smiles. “Okay,” he says and leans in, kissing Percy once more before he can drag himself away.   
  
Percy disappears down the hall, pulling his suit jacket off and Credence feels a thrill go through him as he moves into the kitchen. It takes a while to scrub his hands clean and he suspects they’ll be stained grey for a while, but the worst of it is gone and he towels them off.   
  
He breathes in deeply, squaring himself, and walks back to the bedroom. It’s only lit by a soft lamp and Percy is standing near the bed, only in his trousers now and Credence pauses in the doorway as he looks at him.   
  
He’s not quite as pale as Credence and he’s definitely sturdier. He’s solid, Credence thinks, and strong, stronger even than he looks, even as Credence eyes the muscles in his arm, when Percy tosses something onto the bed.   
  
“Come here,” he says as he looks at Credence, holding his hand out.   
  
Credence walks in and takes it, nerves roiling in his stomach, but he’s not afraid. For once in his life he isn’t afraid and for once in his life, he trusts someone, despite all the reasons he has not to.   
  
Percy’s not going to do anything to him but lead him into a better life. Or, at least, push Credence in the direction of one.   
  
They kiss, shortly and sweetly, and Credence fumbles with Percy’s trousers, getting them open and pushing them down his hips. Percy does the same for him and once Credence has stepped out of them, down to his underclothes, he turns him toward the bed and gently pushes him, until Credence lays down.   
  
Percy’s eyes are so dark as he looks Credence over and he looks immensely pleased. “Beautiful,” he says quietly. “You’re beautiful, Credence.”   
  
Credence blushes and holds his hand out, until Percy takes it and moves into bed with him, hovering over him. He leans down and kisses Credence and they get lost there, wrapped around each other.   
  
When Credence locks his legs around Percy’s hips, he feels Percy grind against him, hard in his underclothes and Credence in his. He whines at the feeling, dragging his hands up and down along the smooth skin of Percy’s back.   
  
“What do you want from me, love?” Percy asks when he pulls away, looking down at Credence with a tender affection that’s possibly more overwhelming than anything else.   
  
“Anything,” Credence whispers. “Everything. Whatever you want to give me.”   
  
Percy smiles and kisses him again, only briefly, before he sits up a little, Credence’s legs still wrapped around him. “I would like to give you anything and everything,” he says. “But I don’t want to overwhelm you.”   
  
“You’re not going to,” Credence says with a smile. “I imagined being with someone so many times. All the time, really, but not always doing this, because I was afraid my mother would know what I was thinking. But when I did, I wanted all of it. He never had a face in my mind.” He bites his lip as Percy takes his hand, pulling it up to his mouth and kissing over his knuckles.   
  
“I wanted his hands, his mouth, his... “ he trails off and huffs a little, pushing past the embarrassment. “His cock. So I want everything, Percy. But I think I want you in me tonight most of all.”   
  
Percy smiles. “I’ll give you everything, Credence,” he says and leans down, kissing his lips, his chin, along his jaw and neck.   
  
The sudden sensation of hot skin pressed against hot skin, Percy’s cock pressed to his, makes him flinch in surprise. Percy looks at him with a bit of a smirk and Credence laughs.   
  
“Warn me next time,” he mumbles, his cheeks hot. “Please don’t use any demonic magic to rush this.”   
  
Percy laughs. “I hadn’t planned on it,” he says and reaches over, grabbing what he’d tossed on the bed. He holds up a bottle of lubricant. “I’m going to take my time with you, sweetheart.”   
  
Credence smiles. There’s heat pooling in his stomach and his cock is hard, arousal in his veins, but it’s at a low simmer, rather than a frantic boiling. It’s all bullshit, Percy had said, and Credence understands that now. He’s not going to Hell for this and life with Mary Lou is behind him.   
  
He’s going to enjoy this with Percy and it will feel even more right than it already does, he suspects, during and after.   
  
Percy kisses him and trails his lips down his neck to his shoulders and collar, not quite as bony as they used to be. He moves his lips over Credence’s chest, until he gets to his nipple, and Credence jumps when he sucks on it, gasping, surprised at the sensitivity of it. Percy looks up at him and Credence groans, because that is too fine of a sight to be anything but indecent.   
  
He moves his hand through Percy’s hair again as he sucks on his nipple and lets his teeth brush over it, a shock of pleasure straight to Credence’s cock. He moans, a little brokenly, because this is happening and it’s better than any fantasizing could ever be.   
  
Percy rolls his hips, his cock sliding along Credence’s, and he digs his fingertips into Percy’s back.   
  
“Percy,” he whispers. “Please, more. Please touch me.”   
  
“Anything for you, love,” Percy says and moves his hand down, shifting so he can wrap his hand around Credence’s cock. He gives it a slow, gentle stroke, and Credence whines. “More?”   
  
“More,” Credence says as he tips his head back, eyes closed tightly. Percy strokes him again and he hisses, gently tugging at Percy’s hair, not wanting to hurt him. “Please, while you’re… while you’re getting me ready.”   
  
“Too much and you’re going to come before we even get started,” Percy says, sounding far too satisfied with himself. Credence does tug his hair more firmly this time but he only laughs. “Patience, love.”   
  
Percy opens the bottle of lubricant and gets some on his fingers. When Credence looks at him, he sees him blow on it and wonders why on earth he would do such a thing. But he understands, when Percy reaches down, down past his balls, and presses them into the cleft of his ass. The lubricant is pleasantly warm, instead of another shock of cold, and Credence relaxes when he realizes he had tensed up expecting it to be.   
  
The smile on Percy’s face isn’t so smug now, just satisfied, and he rubs gently over Credence’s hole. It’s sensitive but Credence is trembling with anticipation and he nods when Percy looks at him.   
  
His finger slides in smoothly and Credence closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. It’s something he’s done to himself, only a few times, mostly trembling in fear rather than enjoying it anyway, and it’s far different having someone else do it. Far more wonderful, for so many reasons.   
  
“Oh,” he moans, as Percy slides his finger in and out, spreading the lubricant. When he curls his finger, just a little, Credence gasps and slides his hands down Percy’s back, holding tightly onto him. “Percy, that’s—”   
  
Credence cries out as Percy rubs against something inside him that has his cock throbbing and he feels it leaking on his abdomen.   
  
“Beautiful,” Percy whispers and sits up just a bit more. He wraps his hand around Credence’s cock again and when he slides his finger out, he pushes two in.   
  
“Fuck,” Credence curses and bites his lip, hard, because the stretch is good. It’s so warm and it doesn’t hurt and he briefly wonders if Percy is making that be so, before he decides he doesn’t care either way.   
  
But when Percy strokes his cock in time with his fingers sliding slowly in and out, Credence realizes he was right. “Okay, okay!” he gasps, seeing stars behind his eyelids. “Too much.”   
  
Percy laughs and moves his hand to Credence’s hip instead, gripping it. He rubs over that same spot inside and Credence’s hips stutter, but Percy’s holding him steady.   
  
Credence reaches up to hold on to his shoulders and looks up at him, gasping as Percy begins to thrust his fingers harder and faster. “Percy,” he moans. “Oh… oh, Percy, that feels so good!”   
  
“One more?”   
  
“God yes,” Credence groans.   
  
Percy’s chuckle is husky and Credence’s cock gives a feeble twitch, because when Percy’s voice dips low like that, it always threatens to ruin him.   
  
Once he’s got more lubricant on his fingers and has warmed it, he gently slides a third finger in. Credence whimpers, tossing his head back, because the stretch is only getting better and it does burn, a bit, but it’s gone as quickly as it came and he’s positive that’s Percy’s doing now.   
  
The sound of his wet fingers sliding in and out of Credence is too much, too obscene, and Credence hopes he gets to hear it again and again.   
  
“Fuck!” Credence yelps when Percy stops to rub against him again. “No, no more of that. It’s going to make me come,” he pleads. “I want you inside of me, Percy, please, right now.”   
  
“Alright, love,” Percy says with warm amusement. But he curls his fingers again as he says, “You sound so good when you swear, Credence.”   
  
Credence curses with a bit more fervor and Percy laughs, taking mercy on him. He pulls his fingers out, slowly, and Credence watches him through half-lidded eyes as he grabs the lubricant again. His fingers are already clean and dry and it must be very convenient to be a demon, Credence thinks idly, as Percy puts lubricant in his palm and blows on it.   
  
He sits up more and Credence stares at his cock as he spreads the lubricant over it. He’s thick and long and there’s a bead of precome that falls onto Credence’s hip and it’s too much. Entirely too much.   
  
Percy’s beautiful all around, but his cock is perfect, exactly what Credence has always wished for, when he was daring enough to do so.   
  
“Percy,” Credence whispers. “You’re perfect.”   
  
“Made in God’s image,” Percy says and grins as Credence groans, not at all in pleasure.   
  
“Ugh,” Credence says. “Just say thank you.”   
  
“Thank you, Credence,” Percy says and leans in, kissing him once, twice, before he moves up again. “You’re the one that’s perfect. More beautiful every time I see you.”   
  
Credence bites his lip, his cheeks warm, and he tightens his legs around Percy’s waist as he leans down and presses himself against Credence’s hole. It doesn’t seem like he would fit, though Credence knows he will, but he can’t help the way his body tenses, his fingers white-knuckled on Percy’s shoulders.   
  
“Relax, sweetheart,” Percy says as he looks at Credence with a smile, soft, no teasing in it. “I’m never going to hurt you.”   
  
“I know,” Credence whispers and closes his eyes as he breathes in deeply. He relaxes his shoulders and the rest of him follows, when he looks at Percy, into his eyes, dark with heat but tender with affection.   
  
He slides into Credence then, easily, and Credence cries out, unable to do anything but throw his head back again. Percy presses flush against him, leaning down until they’re chest to chest, and Credence wraps his arms tightly around his shoulders.   
  
“Percy,” he whines. “That’s… oh, God, Percy, please!” It’s a fullness and a pleasure he never imagined could really feel this good, but it does,  _ oh _ it does.   
  
Percy kisses Credence’s jaw and down over his neck. “You feel incredible, Credence,” he says, low with pleasure, so close to Credence’s ear, sending him into a shiver. “That’s it, sweetheart.”   
  
He begins to rock in and out of Credence, an almost torturously slow place, but Credence doesn’t want to ask him to move any faster. He would like to feel this all night long and when Percy groans, face pressed into the curve of Credence’s neck, he thinks he’d like to feel this forever.   
  
Credence moves his hand into Percy’s hair, tugging on it until he lifts his head, and Credence kisses him. It’s passionate and a little sloppy and he feels sweat on his forehead and under his calves on Percy’s back and it’s bliss, pure bliss, he thinks, the way it’s supposed to be.   
  
Percy bites his lower lip before they break apart and he looks at Credence as he pulls out and thrusts back in with a snap. Credence’s mouth falls open as he moans and he stares back at Percy until he begins to fuck Credence, earnestly, and he squeezes his eyes shut, because looking at Percy, so gorgeous in his pleasure, buried inside of Credence, will make him come.   
  
His grunts and low moans are the best sounds Credence has ever heard and he’s a little embarrassed at how loud he is compared to Percy, but when he bites his lip to try and stop it, Percy leans down, until his lips are near Credence’s ear.   
  
“No, sweetheart,” he whispers, roughly, “I want to hear you. Don’t you hide it from me.”   
  
Credence shudders and looks up at Percy again, as he pulls back and thrusts back in even harder. The moan is knocked out of him before he could even think of stopping it and Credence merely tries to hold on then, because Percy fucks him in a way that he knows he will be feeling for a while.   
  
Percy holds himself up on his hands and the muscles in his arms are striking, tight and not shaking with the effort. Credence grasps them, holding on, and shouts his pleasure, shouts Percy’s name, each time he buries himself inside of Credence.   
  
“I’m going to fill you, Credence,” Percy promises. “But I want to feel you coming when I do.”   
  
“Please,” Credence gasps. “Please, Percy, yes.” His moans are becoming higher and more wrung out the more he’s fucked and when Percy’s hand wraps around his cock, it only takes two strokes.   
  
He comes, hard, yelling Percy’s name, and feels his come falling across the heated skin of his stomach. He’s spasming around Percy and the moan that Percy gives him is going to haunt him, when he’s here alone.   
  
Percy thrusts in deep and stills and Credence feels his cock pulsing inside of him and just the thought of Percy’s come in him has him gasping Percy’s name again.   
  
They finish together and Credence moans brokenly as his body sags against the mattress, no longer taut with his orgasm, and Percy moves down to press against him again, their chests heaving together.   
  
“Oh my God,” Credence whispers and moves his arms around Percy’s back, slick with sweat. “Percy… oh…”   
  
Percy chuckles, kissing Credence’s neck and rolling his hips in a way that makes Credence moan again, a bit desperately, because he’s so sensitive now. Percy kisses up to his jaw and chin and then his lips, only for a moment, because Credence is still trying to catch his breath.   
  
“Perfection,” Percy says. “That’s what you are, Credence.”   
  
Credence blushes and looks up at him, his eyelids heavy. “I don’t know about that,” he says and whines when Percy rocks his hips. “Stop it.”   
  
“Just say thank you,” Percy says and laughs when Credence scowls.   
  
But Credence laughs too then and he shakes his head, moving his fingers into the damp strands of Percy’s hair. He has an idea now why Percy likes to touch his hair so much. He smiles and closes his eyes and thinks his heart is racing for a different reason.   
  
Percy kisses his forehead and pats Credence’s legs until he shakily unwraps them from his waist. He pulls himself gently out of Credence and when Credence feels his come leaking out of him, he’s sure he’s red, and the way Percy is watching should be even more embarrassing, but Credence wishes he could see it too.   
  
He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say that out loud though.   
  
Percy gets out of bed and walks into the bathroom. The sink turns on for a moment or two and when he comes back out, he’s got a washcloth in hand.   
  
“Can’t you just snap your fingers?” Credence asks lazily, smiling.   
  
“I already did for myself,” Percy says and Credence realizes he’s no longer sweaty or wet anywhere else, the smears of charcoal on his neck gone. “But it might be jarring for you to feel. Especially this.”   
  
He gets back into bed and cleans Credence, gingerly, sweetly, and Credence watches as he does, his heart feeling constricted, but not in a painful sort of way. Merely like someone else is wrapped around it now and he thinks it can’t be a good thing.   
  
But tonight, he doesn’t care.   
  
“Thank you,” he says softly as Percy tosses the towel aside. “That was really good. Can we use my last five hours to do this?”   
  
Percy laughs and leans down, kissing Credence, before he moves next to him, laying on his side. “I think that’s a perfect way to end our agreement,” he says, resting his arm over Credence’s hips. “Though you’re down to four now.”   
  
Credence smiles. “Four,” he says. “It goes by a lot faster when I’m enjoying myself.”   
  
“You’ll find life will go by much faster now,” Percy says. “When you aren’t living in fear. You’re going to have to remember to stop and enjoy it sometimes.”   
  
Credence bites his lip as he watches Percy and tries not to think of it as the beginning of the goodbye it sounds like. “I think it’s still going to take a while to get there,” he says quietly. “But I’m looking forward to it for once.”   
  
“Good,” Percy says with a warm smile. “You want some dinner?”   
  
“In a bit,” Credence says. “Can you lay with me for a little while, please?”   
  
“Anything for you, love,” Percy says and pulls Credence closer to him.   
  
Credence rolls onto his side and tucks himself against Percy’s chest, until Percy has his chin resting on his head, his arm tightly around Credence. And if tears sting at Credence’s eyes, well, he’s practiced in holding them in when he tries, and doesn’t let them fall.   
  
——   
  
Percy only leaves a few times over the next few days.   
  
He mostly stays inside with Credence, reading the newspaper or watching him sketch and paint, making sure he remembers to eat now and then.   
  
They have sex often, in various different ways, and Credence enjoys it more than he thought could be possible. He thinks it’s Percy that makes it possible, really, that he would have never been able to relax and enjoy himself with anyone else the way he does. He would have been too frightened, too frightened of sinning and too frightened of breaking the law.   
  
But it’s hard to not ask Percy what he’s supposed to do after their last day. What he’s supposed to do about a place to live, about money, about his sisters.   
  
What he’s supposed to do without him.   
  
It makes Credence feel lost in a way he’s never experienced before and he thinks it might almost be more terrible than the way it did when he lived in the church with his mother.   
  
When Percy does leave, Credence walks the city and looks for businesses that are hiring. It’s a better area than Pike Street and no one recognizes him, but his lack of experience in most ways has them shaking their heads. The grocer considers him and tells Credence to come back on Monday for a working interview and Credence agrees, knowing it won’t be much, but it might get him enough to take Modesty away, after a while.   
  
Finding a place to live will be impossible in Manhattan, but he hasn’t given himself any time to go look elsewhere. Maybe the Bronx, so he could take the subway, and the cost of living isn’t quite so high there.   
  
He goes to Pike Street on the last day that he owes Percy an hour and watches the church. Modesty plays with a few of the girls she’s friends with and Chastity watches them with a careful eye she doesn’t usually have. The pain is gone, after all, the memories of what Ma turned her into, and she is merely a big sister.   
  
It makes Credence ache, pushing him toward the desperation that led to him summoning a demon in the first place.   
  
The walk back to Percy’s apartment is long and cold but he’s glad for it. He’s trembling, from anxiety and old fears, and he’s glad to get it out now, before he’s in the apartment and Percy can pry his fears out of him.   
  
When he walks inside, he thinks he shouldn’t be surprised to see Percy there, though it isn’t even three in the afternoon.   
  
Percy’s on the sofa, his feet on the coffee table, reading the newspaper, naturally, and Credence’s heart seizes as he stares at him.   
  
“Good afternoon, love,” Percy says and thankfully he doesn’t look at Credence until he’s managed to walk away from the front door. “Long walk today.”   
  
Credence peels his coat off and sets it on the breakfast bar. “Yeah,” he says. “I just wanted to see Modesty and Chastity before everything changes.”   
  
“Understandable.”   
  
Credence bites his lip and gets a glass of water. He takes a long drink and leans against the breakfast bar, staring down at the countertop. “How’s it going to work?” he asks, a question he’s been dreading, but one he’s put off for too long.   
  
“A snap of my fingers and they’ll remember everything. A little adjustment of their recollection of the date, so they will only feel like one night has passed and the date on the paper won’t throw them,” Percy says. “And from what you’ve said, you’ll take it from there.”   
  
“Okay,” Credence says and looks at the still water in the glass. “I think I might have found a place I can work, to save up some money. For a place to live and take care of Modesty, though it’s going to take a while.”   
  
“Where at?”   
  
“The grocery store a few blocks north of here. He said to come in on Monday and do a working interview.”   
  
“A working interview,” Percy says with amusement. “He should have just told you you were hired.”   
  
“He doesn’t know me,” Credence says. “I could be bad news.”   
  
Percy hums. “No one could ever look at you and think that,” he says. “But you might want to see a barber before then.”   
  
Credence frowns, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair. It’s definitely longer and coming in at the back and sides, but he’s been thinking about letting it grow more, so he can style it in any way he wants, not the way his mother had it for the last thirteen years.   
  
His entire life is going to change again tomorrow, he knows, more than it had after Percy had appeared in front of him. He’s terrified, as much as he had told Percy with confidence that he’d figure it out.   
  
And he’s terrified because even if he does figure it out, Percy isn’t going to be there anymore. He wonders then, if Percy has done this with others. He hadn’t answered when Credence had asked and he supposes he couldn’t be surprised if he was merely one in a line of many, even if the others didn’t have supposedly pure souls.   
  
Credence rubs his hand over his face, digging his fingers against his eyes until he sees stars. He hears Percy move and looks up, watching him warily as he moves around the sofa and comes to stand at the breakfast bar across from Credence.   
  
“You’re hurting, love,” Percy says.   
  
It makes Credence want to laugh. Of course he’s hurting and he suspects Percy knows he’s been hurting for a while, but Credence had told him he would do this on his own.   
  
“I’m fine,” he says. “It’s just a lot to think about. I’m mostly worried about Modesty and Chastity hurting.”   
  
Percy peers at him for a while, with a faint smile. “I told you before, Credence,” he says, quietly, “you only need to ask.”   
  
Credence flinches and stands straight, shaking his head. “No,” he says. “I told you I wasn’t going to ask you for anything again. I don’t want to owe you anything… even if it’s been nice, over the last couple weeks, I don’t… I just don’t want to. I don’t like conditional help or… or friendships.”   
  
“I know you don’t. But you can still ask.”   
  
“No, I can’t,” Credence says, somewhat desperately. “I know what you’ve done for me and I’m thankful for it, but you said demons don’t have hearts of gold. That it’s always and only done if there’s something to be gained.”   
  
“For most demons, yes,” Percy says, still smiling, and there’s nothing mocking in it. Only affection. “Ask me and I’ll tell you what I’d ask for in return.”   
  
“Are you the one demon with a heart of gold?” Credence asks bitterly. “I don’t want to play this game.”   
  
Percy chuckles. “Oh, love,” he sighs. “The only game being played here is your battle with your pride.”   
  
Credence scowls. “It’s not pride to not want to ask a demon for help.”   
  
“It’s pride to not want to ask for help at all.”   
  
“But you  _ are _ a demon.”   
  
“I’m also someone who cares about you.”   
  
Credence winces and shakes his head. “Maybe, but—”   
  
“You doubt me?” Percy asks and his tone is lethal again, almost frightening enough to send a shiver up Credence’s spine, if he wasn’t sharing his bed every night. “Do you doubt what I’ve told you?”   
  
“I doubt that it extends beyond tonight,” Credence snaps. “Because you haven’t told me any different.”   
  
“You told me what you wanted, Credence,” Percy says. “And I told you you only need to ask.”   
  
Credence shakes his head and he’s angry that there are tears in his eyes, because he thinks he could live the rest of his life without crying. “I’m afraid to,” he says. “I’m afraid I’ll ask and you’ll tell me it’s still conditional. You already have.”   
  
“Have I? Or did I say ask me and I’ll tell you what I’d ask for in return? You’re well within your right to deny me when I’m asking.”   
  
“And you would deny what I’d ask for,” Credence says, because he can’t believe any different. He can’t trust it to be out of the goodness of Percy’s heart.   
  
He doesn’t have a heart or soul anymore.   
  
“You know very little about me.”   
  
Credence laughs tearfully. “You keep saying that,” he says. “Yet you don’t tell me anything about yourself, so how can I?”   
  
“You can stop assuming,” Percy says simply. “And ask.”   
  
Credence thinks he might pull his hair out or lob the water glass at Percy’s head. “Fine,” he says angrily. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go after this. I have no home, no money, I have nowhere safe I can take my sisters to, or at least Modesty, and I’m leaving them to be tormented by our mother while I try to find those things. I’m terrified, Percy. They’re safe and happy right now and that’s about to end and it hurts me. It hurts me more than anything else has with you.”   
  
He sniffs and wipes at his cheeks. “I would ask for you to keep them protected and safe. I would ask for you to help me find a home, away from our mother, so maybe they can start healing too, somewhere she couldn’t find them and drag them back.”   
  
Percy watches Credence as he speaks, unreadable. He walks around the breakfast bar and moves his hands to Credence’s cheeks, brushing away a few fresh tears. He kisses Credence, tenderly, and Credence wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, because he is lost in Percival Graves and doesn’t think he knows how to find a way out.   
  
When Percy pulls away, his hands stay on Credence’s cheeks, holding him in place. “Done,” he says softly.   
  
Credence blinks and furrows his brow. “What?” he asks in confusion. “What do you mean  _ done?” _   
  
“I mean it’s done,” Percy says. “They’re protected and safe. And they - you - have a home, away from your mother. She won’t be able to drag them back.”   
  
“But… but…” Credence trails off and he’s crying still, because he doesn’t understand. “You didn’t ask me for anything.”   
  
“Because it was never going to be conditional,” Percy says, wiping away more tears. “But I’ll ask you for something still, that you can deny or give. I’m not asking as a demon. I’m asking as the man that cares a great deal for you.”   
  
Credence cries a little harder at that, reaching up and grasping Percy’s wrists. “What?” he asks, broken and terrified, terrified that it’s too good to be true.   
  
“That you stay with me,” Percy says and his own voice is rough. “That you stay by my side, even if you don’t live with me for a time. That you remain mine while I remain yours. I would ask for it to remain that way after death too, but that might be asking too much.”   
  
Credence laughs helplessly and closes his eyes. “I’d rather not be tied to a demon in Hell when I die, Percy.”   
  
“Oh, love,” Percy says gently. “You’d have wings to match my own.”   
  
Credence looks at him and frowns. Percy’s eyes are so dark but Credence sees the affection in them, the genuine care he has for Credence, maybe even something more, but that’s still frightening to think about.   
  
“Demons don’t have wings,” Credence says feebly. “You’re not an angel. I summoned you with a pentagram.”   
  
Percy moves his hand down to the nape of Credence’s neck. “I knew you, Credence,” he says slowly. “I knew you before you summoned me. Not well, but I knew you.”   
  
Credence stares at him, his heart thumping heavily, and he’s not sure if he wants to hear this. If it will be a truth he had feared. That Percy has been lying to him, that this has all been a charade, and they’ve reached the end of the road and he will face truer punishment.   
  
But Percy has asked him to stay by his side. To stay with him, even in death.   
  
“How?”   
  
“You held onto that paper with the pentagram on it for so long,” Percy says quietly. “Your blood and tears touched it. You opened a channel with Hell and you never knew it. I knew one day that pain would push you to summon a demon. I didn’t know what the pain was. I knew I would one day. That I’d meet you and you’d tell me. I was very curious who you were but I didn’t want to come up here and influence you. You would summon me when you were ready.”   
  
Credence gasps and his knees are weak, but Percy slides his arm around his waist, and it’s so easy for him to hold Credence up, to give him strength. “Percy,” he whispers and wants to ask him to stop, but he has to hear it. All of it, even if it ruins him.   
  
“You did summon me. And you were as pure as I expected you to be,” Percy says. “I knew from the moment I felt you I wouldn’t be taking your soul or killing you. For the reasons I already told you and because a higher power wouldn’t have forgiven me if I did.” He smiles faintly. “But I never planned on it. I only wanted you to learn and grow and remain pure.”   
  
“Why?” Credence asks desperately. “Why would you care so much about me, just because you knew my pain before you met me?”   
  
“Healing pain was my job for a very long time, Credence,” Percy says with another smile. “I didn’t forget it or what a pure soul looks like, feels like, just because my place of work changed.”   
  
Credence blinks for a while as he stares at Percy. “You were an angel before you were a demon?” he asks weakly, grabbing at Percy’s shirt, fisting it.   
  
“I’ll always be an angel, even if they call me something else these days,” Percy says wryly. “But a fallen angel tends to earn a different sort of title.”   
  
“Percy,” Credence says and squeezes his eyes shut. He licks his lips and looks at him. “Are you telling me you’re the angel that fell from Heaven and created Hell?”   
  
Percy wipes another tear away before moving his hand to Credence’s back. “I did tell you I am the boss.”   
  
“And you and the Devil were very like-minded,” Credence says weakly. “You were never a man who sold his soul and gave his life to a demon.”   
  
“No,” Percy says, almost apologetically. “I was an angel who questioned too many things and found myself damned for it. It’s alright though,” he adds with a smile when Credence winces. “The boss and I made up a long time ago and realized humanity needed balance.”   
  
Credence closes his eyes again, taking in a breath and letting it out slowly, so that his heart might not leap from his chest. He looks at Percy. “You’re a fallen angel who runs Hell and you want  _ me _ to stay with you? I don’t… I don’t want to think about after I die, I want to think about now.”   
  
“Yes, Credence. I want you with me. In my home, in my bed. Ours, preferably.”   
  
“Aren’t you too busy for that?” Credence asks, because he is overwhelmed.   
  
“I have many employees, Credence.”   
  
Credence frowns at him in disapproval, but Percy chuckles anyway. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   
  
Percy raises his eyebrows. “If I had told you who I was the night you summoned me, things would have gone very differently for both of us.”   
  
Credence supposes that’s true. He was terrified of sinning, of going to Hell, of demons, of his mother. He still thought he was wicked and sinful and if Percy had told me he was the Devil and he owed him something, he might have made more drastic choices.   
  
“You’ve crafted all of this since before I even summoned you,” Credence says. “I should be angry that you kept so much from me.”   
  
“Are you?”   
  
“Maybe,” Credence says quietly. “But I’m also thankful that I’m not afraid of my own shadow anymore. I’m thankful to not be so… mixed up anymore. I’m thankful you told me the truth about sins and the real souls destined for Hell because it’s given me freedom and happiness I wouldn’t have found otherwise. I’m thankful you told me it’s all bullshit because it pushed me into doing what I only dared to dream about, even if I had to ask for more help before I can do it anyway.”   
  
“There’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it, Credence,” Percy says with a gentle smile. “From anyone.”   
  
Credence huffs a little. “I didn’t want to believe you’d help me because you cared about me. Because if I asked and it wasn’t true, it would’ve hurt. I think it would’ve broken my heart.”   
  
“Maybe you’ll finally start believing that I have good intentions for you.”   
  
“Well,” Credence says dryly, “you did just tell me you’re Satan.”   
  
“Call me Percy,” Percy says with a smirk. Credence laughs then and so does Percy, like he can’t help it.   
  
It lights his face up so much, that laugh, boyish and charming, and Credence thinks he was never destined for a normal life. He was destined for Hell all along, even if it’s come to him in a kinder, softer way. He was destined to dance with the Devil, like his mother always told him, and he wonders what Mary Lou might say, if he told her she was right all along.   
  
As he gazes at Percy, he realizes she was right about the Devil being attractive too.   
  
Credence wraps his arms around Percy’s neck and kisses him. He kisses him like a man drowning, because he needs to move away from this for now. They’ll have plenty to talk about later, but he wants to spend his final hour with Percy the way they’ve been spending them for quite a few days now.   
  
He wants to keep seeing Percy as Percy, not as anyone else, but as a man who treats him gently, considerately, who buys him paint and hangs up the sketched drawings of Manhattan in the bedroom. As the man who makes love to him and always asks first, who never takes more than he’s given.   
  
Two weeks of pain and charades have changed who Credence is, at the very heart of him, and he doesn’t think he can be angry at Percy for that. He is better and stronger and happier and that’s what Percy had meant for him all along.   
  
To show him there’s beauty in the world, once you push past the pain, and that it’s not all as complicated as it seems. That you can reach out and take what you want, if you realize it’s yourself that’s been holding you back, and nothing else matters beyond that.   
  
That Credence is a good person, even if he was pushed to do something out of desperation, and that he deserved better.   
  
No, he can’t be angry with Percy.   
  
He’s just not sure he’ll ever be able to show him how thankful he truly is.   
  
——   
  
When Credence wakes in the morning, knowing he owes no more hours, he thought he might have felt a shift. But he doesn’t.   
  
And as he looks at Percy asleep next to him, he thinks he probably never was going to. They never made a deal, they never shook hands, and he wonders if he had figured out what Percy was teaching him sooner and they hadn’t gotten closer, if Percy would have let him walk away.   
  
He’s never been a prisoner here, as much as he felt that way at the beginning. But if he had walked away, he would be in a far worse situation, with Ma and his sisters, with nowhere to go, and he wouldn’t have Percy.   
  
The idea of not having him just yesterday had been nearly unbearable and he feels that now, the thought of Percy gone, never to be heard from again, in the middle of his chest. It hurts in a way he didn’t know he could feel, a dull, dense ache, that threatens to steal his breath away and leave him gasping for air.   
  
But Percy is there, as he always has been, to move closer and stroke his hand over Credence’s hip as he kisses his forehead and cheek and lips. He doesn’t say anything and when he looks at Credence, there is an understanding in his eyes and Credence thinks he doesn’t have to say anything at all.   
  
They merely hold on to each other, until Credence’s stomach growls and Percy laughs.   
  
Credence eats breakfast and drinks coffee and watches Percy read the paper with fondness. He’s eager to go and see his sisters, who must remember everything now, but Percy had said they were protected, so he knows they’re not at the mercy of Ma. But he’s terrified too, to go to the church and see what’s happened. To hug Modesty and tell her he’s alright, when her last memory of him was being beaten severely and kicked out into the cold, not knowing if she’d see him again.   
  
He wants to ask Percy what to expect when he gets there but he’s scared of that too.   
  
But then, what has fear ever done for him, except hold him back?   
  
Credence gets dressed and when Percy holds his hand out, he takes it.   
  
The church looks the same as it always has and there are the same people walking Pike Street, the same children playing in the streets, warming their bones because their clothes won’t do that for them.   
  
Credence walks across the street, knowing Percy won’t come in with him, his knees weak, and he stops in front of the church doors and closes his eyes, his heart hammering away. He trusts Percy but this is a place of immense pain to him and he’s still afraid of what he’ll find inside.   
  
But he opens the doors and steps in and sees that the church looks the same as it always has. And there is Modesty, and Chastity too, at the small dining table in the kitchen, but Ma is nowhere in sight.   
  
_ “Credence!” _ Modesty shouts as she leaps up and runs to him. He catches her and picks her up and her arms around his neck threaten to choke him, but he can’t stop laughing.   
  
“Are you alright, Credence?” Modesty asks as she looks at him. “Mama said it was never real, witches were never real, that she had been wrong and then— and then the police came and they arrested her and said you’d be here soon, but you were hurt, she hurt you so bad and I didn’t know if they were lying—”   
  
“Hold on, hold on,” Credence says, his head swimming, and gently sets Modesty on the ground. “What?” he asks feebly and looks up at Chastity.   
  
She’s got a cup of steaming tea in her hands and is staring down at it, pale and lost. She looks up at Credence and there’s no meanness in her, the way there usually is, and her eyes are bright.   
  
Credence walks to the table, Modesty’s hand in his, and tentatively sits down. Modesty clambers onto his lap and he holds her as she gazes at him, worry in her eyes.   
  
“I’m fine,” he promises her. “Someone helped me last night. I’m alright.”   
  
“We thought you were going to die,” Chastity says, her voice small. “I never… I didn’t think she would ever go so far. Maybe it’s why she…” She shakes her head as she looks at Credence. “What Modesty says is true. She told us that none of it had ever been real. There are no witches and so there is no one to rise up against us. That she had been mistaken and that she had walked the wrong path. She said she had to find the Godly path now.”   
  
Credence is at a loss for words as he stares between his sisters. He knows this is Percy’s doing, he probably made her say the words while she was under his control, and he thinks about him making Ma say she would walk the Godly path now and what a strange thing it is that he chose those words.   
  
“The police came right after,” Modesty says and she looks upset, confused, but there is something brighter in her eyes. Something a bit like hope.   
  
“They arrested her?” Credence asks as he looks at Chastity. “For what?”   
  
Chastity looks down at the mug in her hands. “For many different things. I lost count of everything they said. Abuse and neglect. Fraud against the government, tax theft and providing false documents about the church,” she says. Her cheeks turn pink. “Deviancy and unnatural acts.”   
  
Credence raises his eyebrows before he closes his eyes and presses his knuckles against his mouth, because he doesn’t know if he wants to cry or shout or laugh. That is far more like Percy than turning Ma toward God. It’s a way to thoroughly ruin her reputation.   
  
“Did they say what was going to happen to her?” Credence asks as he looks at Chastity, because he doesn’t think he can come up with anything to say about her charges.   
  
“They only said she was going to be in prison for a long time and that our guardianship would go to you,” Chastity says and sounds shell-shocked. “Credence, I… I don’t know what to say. How could she lie to us for so very long?”   
  
“Because that’s what she is, Chastity,” Credence says. Something he couldn’t have uttered a month ago. “Because she’s only ever lied to us and hurt us. She was never our mother. She adopted us because she wanted an army, not children.”   
  
Chastity flinches and looks away, tears in her eyes. A few fall down her cheeks and she shakes her head. “I tried to believe what she said,” she whispers. “Not at first. But when I started to agree with her, she hurt me less. And the more I agreed, the more I believed, because the pain went away. But I think I always doubted her, deep down.”   
  
She looks at Credence and sighs shakily. “I’m sorry, Credence, for what I made her do to you.”   
  
“You didn’t make her do anything she wasn’t going to do already,” Credence says firmly. “You were protecting yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that.”   
  
“How can you say that?” Chastity asks, hushed. “She hurt you, Credence, whenever I told her you’d done something wrong. There’s evil in me, to do such a thing to you, when you only ever tried to take care of me.”   
  
Credence bites his cheek when he feels a sting in his eyes and he shakes his head. “There’s no evil in you,” he says. “Or you,” he says to Modesty, who smiles, though she looks sad. He looks at Chastity. “I would rather have taken all of it, if it meant she didn’t hurt you. I don’t blame you, Chastity, for an evil woman’s heart. You’re fifteen years old and you wanted the pain to stop. There’s no evil in that.”   
  
Chastity cries more and puts her forehead in her hand, but when he reaches across the table, she grasps his hand. “I’m so sorry, Credence. I’m so very sorry.”   
  
“It’s alright,” Credence says and sniffs. “It’s all going to be alright now.”   
  
“What are we going to do?” Modesty asks quietly. “We don’t have any money.”   
  
“I got help last night,” Credence says. “From someone with a heart of gold.” He smiles as he looks at Modesty. “We don’t have to stay here anymore. We have a different home now.”   
  
“Is that where you got your nice clothes?” Modesty asks as she touches his winter coat.   
  
Credence laughs. “Yes,” he says. “We can leave right now. We can leave and not look back. Find a better life for ourselves.” He looks at Chastity as she wipes her tears away. “All of us. I’ll take care of you both now.”   
  
Modesty hugs him and he hugs her back, still holding Chastity’s hand.   
  
“What about the other children?” Modesty asks. “What will they do?”   
  
“I have a couple ideas about that,” Credence says. “But I have to talk to the man who helped me first. Who’s helping us.”   
  
“Why would anyone want to help us?” Chastity asks. “Half of Manhattan despises us.”   
  
Credence smiles and shrugs. “I think he might be part angel, so he’s not one of them,” he says. “He said our home is waiting for us. I don’t know about you two, but I want to get out of this church and stop remembering what’s happened to us here.”   
  
“Me too, Credence,” Modesty says with a smile.   
  
Chastity looks wary. “How can you trust someone you’ve only known since last night? Has he asked for anything in return?”   
  
Credence smiles as he looks down at the table. “Just that we don’t ruin the house,” he says. “But not much more than that. I’ll find work and we’ll have our own money. It’ll be okay.”   
  
“How can you know?” Chastity asks, but she wants to believe him, Credence knows. “How can you know it won’t be worse than Ma someday?”   
  
“Because I’m your guardian now, not her, not him. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to us. Not ever again,” Credence says. “You’re going to have to trust me, Chastity.”   
  
Chastity gazes at him, conflicted, before she briefly closes her eyes and nods. “Alright,” she says. “I will, Credence. What can we do?”   
  
“We don’t have many belongings,” Credence says with a faint smile. “But if you want anything from your rooms tonight, go get it. Some clothes too. We can always come back for more.”   
  
“What’s going to happen to the church?” Modesty asks. “Will it be torn down?”   
  
“Maybe,” Credence says. “But maybe something better will be built here instead.”   
  
Modesty smiles, like she likes that idea, and leaps up, hurrying to the stairs and up them. To get her favorite doll, most likely, the one that can never leave her room, but that she sleeps with every night.   
  
Credence stands and Chastity does as well. He wants to hug her, but she is already so overwhelmed, and he watches her go upstairs. He looks around the church again and knows that one day soon it will be gone and something better will be in its place.   
  
He hopes Percy doesn’t ask for more hours for it, even jokingly.   
  
When his sisters come back downstairs with their small suitcases, Modesty’s doll clutched firmly in hand, he walks outside with them, blinking in the bright winter light. He looks across the street at Percy, who is leaning against the wall, and sees him smile.   
  
“You’re different, Credence,” Modesty says.   
  
“Good or bad different?”   
  
“Good,” Modesty says firmly. “You’re not so sad anymore.”   
  
Credence smiles. “I don’t feel so sad anymore.”   
  
“You are different,” Chastity says as she gazes at him.   
  
“I think something was shaken loose last night,” Credence says and only hopes it makes sense. “I realized there was more to the world than pain. Than Ma and the church. Better things. That the people we see everyday, who smile and who are happy, can be us, if we’re brave enough.”   
  
Chastity watches him and he knows she will ask more questions later, but he’ll figure those out when she does. She nods her acceptance for now and Credence leads them across the street to Percy.   
  
“This is Percy,” he says when they get near. “He’s been helping me since last night.”   
  
“Hello, Modesty,” Percy says with a smile. “Chastity.”   
  
“Credence said you’re part angel,” Modesty says and smiles, the way she normally doesn’t around strangers.   
  
“Your brother isn’t supposed to tell anyone that,” Percy says and winks when Modesty giggles. “I’m only someone who wants to help.”   
  
“May I ask why, sir?” Chastity asks politely. She is suspicious and Credence doesn’t blame her. He was too at the beginning.   
  
Percy hums. “Because I met a fine young man in the snow last night and heard his story. Your stories,” he says. “I hear a lot of stories in my work. I prefer the happier ones. I have the ability and means to help your story become a happy one.”   
  
Credence bites his cheek again and holds his breath as he looks at his sisters. They look to be digesting his words and Modesty comes around quickly, smiling and nodding at Percy. Chastity is more reluctant to believe him because she knows that if it seems too good to be true, it usually is. Credence wants to tell her that he knows, that he knows exactly how she feels, that he lived it only a few weeks ago. He wants to tell her what Percy has truly done for him, what he’s made him see.   
  
That sometimes you don’t have to wait for the catch, or worry about what someone may ask for in return for their supposed kindness, that sometimes people just want to help.   
  
Even if they seem like they’d be the most unlikely in the world to help.   
  
Credence smiles then, when he thinks of the Devil, who was always a fallen angel, not twisted the way people think. That he isn’t evil at heart, that he merely came to an agreement with God to strike a balance between dark and light.   
  
Maybe one day he can tell Chastity and Modesty about what happened that night in Central Park, but that won’t be for a long time. He looks at Percy, who is gazing back at him already, smiling.   
  
“Home?” he asks.   
  
Credence looks at his sisters and when they nod, he smiles. “Home.”   
  
Taking a taxi is perhaps the strangest thing Credence has done in a while, so used to touching Percy’s hand and appearing elsewhere now. But they drive to 46th Street, familiar to Credence, and when the taxi stops in front of a brownstone, he realizes  _ Barbetto’s  _ is only on the other end of the street.   
  
They get out of the taxi and Percy leads them up the stairs and into the brownstone. Modesty gasps.   
  
It’s beautiful. Dark hardwood floors and creamy walls, large windows letting in an abundance of sunlight, and it’s not empty. There is comfortable furniture in the living room, in the kitchen, and he suspects the bedrooms upstairs as well.   
  
“We can’t accept this,” Chastity says, sounding a little shrill. “This is too much, Mister… Mister Percy, it’s too much for us.”   
  
“Just Percy, please,” Percy says and smiles. “I own quite a few of these and I’d rather they be occupied than sit and gather dust.”   
  
Credence is feeling rather the same as Chastity, but he thinks it was probably silly to imagine Percy putting them up in a small apartment. He’s giving Credence what he asked for - a home for his sisters, protection, where Ma can never reach them again.   
  
“Why do you own so many houses, Percy?” Modesty asks as she walks into the living room, gazing around. She looks hopeful but she doubts it too, doubts that this might be hers.   
  
“The real estate business is a good one to be in, Modesty,” Percy says. “Especially now, booming the way it is. Everyone’s buying up good properties. Surely nothing bad can ever come out of that.”   
  
Credence eyes him a little but he’s only smiling at Modesty and she smiles in return. Chastity is still hovering near the door, looking pale and frightened, and Credence tentatively pats her shoulder.   
  
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I promise.”   
  
“We don’t deserve this, Credence,” Chastity says. “After… after all of it, we don’t deserve this.”   
  
“I think we deserve better than what we had. We never chose that for ourselves.”   
  
“But this… Credence, even if we did, we can’t afford this,” Chastity whispers. “How are we supposed to pay rent or… or anything else?”   
  
“He’s not asking us to pay rent, Chastity,” Credence says quietly. “And I’m going to work, remember?”   
  
“But that— even so,” Chastity hisses, “what  _ is _ he asking for?”   
  
“What I’m asking for, Miss Barebone,” Percy says clearly from the kitchen, quite far away, “is what I would have wished for myself a long time ago. I was kicked out of my home one night for something that was… not my fault, not my choosing, done by someone I trusted and loved. I would have wished for someone to help in those first few days, for someone to be kind enough to give me a home, because it would have made the following years easier.”   
  
“But you did it for yourself, sir,” Chastity says. “Didn’t you?”   
  
Percy shrugs. “Eventually. But it changed who I was,” he says and looks at Chastity. “I’d prefer not to watch the cruel world change you three any further, if I can help it. You’ve already experienced it and you’ve already been changed by it but it doesn’t have to continue. A kinder world, where asking for help is not seen as weakness but something  _ safe _ to do, might just change things for the better.”   
  
Credence looks at Chastity and is a bit afraid she might work herself up into a panic. It’s painful to watch, knowing exactly how she feels, and he thinks only time is going to ease it.   
  
“Trust your brother,” Percy says. “I know that I do.”   
  
“Me too,” Modesty says with all the confidence of an eight year old. “Credence has always helped us.”   
  
This doesn’t seem to make Chastity feel any better. She merely bursts into tears and Credence suspects he knows why, but he’ll never blame her for the choices she made. He leads her to the sofa and sits down with her. Modesty sits on her other side and pats her hand.   
  
Credence is used to being the one who cries like this with no one around but Modesty to pat his hand and he’s at a loss for how to comfort her. But when he takes her other hand, she squeezes it tightly enough to hurt and he thinks that maybe it’s enough. For now.   
  
“I have a few errands to run,” Percy says gently as he walks into the living room. “I’ll be back soon.”   
  
Credence wants to ask him to stay. Wants to ask for his help in all of this. But they’re his sisters, his family, and Percy is a stranger to them. He supposes this is his duty now and it’s not a terrifying thought. It’s what he’s always wanted, to protect them, to take them away from what hurt them.   
  
So he’ll leave his fears and doubts behind and do it. And knowing that isn’t daunting. It’s rather exhilarating, that he is capable of this now.   
  
He smiles at Percy and Percy smiles back and it’s warm, comforting, fond and filled with something that Credence still is unable to help but be frightened by.   
  
But he’s gone then, out of the front door, and Credence looks at his sisters. It’s time to start repairing the damage and he wonders what they might look like, perhaps twenty-four days from now.   
  
——   
  
Chastity stops crying one day. Stops looking at everything with suspicion, like she is in someone else’s home and is not allowed to touch anything. She cleans instead, every surface that she can find, even things that don’t need cleaned. But Credence thinks it’s her way of making herself believe that this is hers now.   
  
Modesty is happier than he’s ever seen her. She accepted it all shortly after she was given it and she likes Percy, asking him endless questions about anything and everything when he comes by, and he patiently answers her and laughs at her enthusiasm.   
  
Credence takes a part time job at the grocery store to keep himself occupied while Percy is out doing the Devil’s work, but he goes to the apartment often when his own work day ends. So they might have some time for themselves, free to touch and enjoy each other, and whenever Percy takes him back to the brownstone, he kisses him goodbye, a gentle, unhurried thing, and Credence wonders if this is what love feels like.   
  
He asked him not long after they were given the brownstone to tear the church down and rebuild a sanctuary for the orphaned children on Pike Street instead. Told him he’d be prepared to give him anything and Percy had only demanded a kiss.   
  
It’s not something he can snap his fingers for, or at least not something that he does, and the church is torn down and something better is built over the months, something sturdier, something softer and more beautiful.   
  
The people who work there, who give the children shelter and food and comfort are all kind and welcoming, but Credence is still a bit afraid to ask Percy where he found them. He wonders if they’re demons sometimes, fallen angels who deal in souls nowadays, but he thinks he doesn’t want to know the truth of it.   
  
It’s a strange thing, he thinks, when he’s lying in Percy’s arms and knows who he is, but there’s more to him than a demon, a devil, a fallen angel. He is all of them at once but his nature will always be one of kindness and love when he’s with Credence.   
  
Sometimes he wonders what it will mean, when he dies and earns wings of his own. Percy will still be there and it’s a more comforting thought than the idea of Heaven ever has been.   
  
They go to  _ Barbetto’s _ now and then and sometimes Anna comes by with huge plates of pasta and cannoli and squeezes their cheeks and calls them angels.   
  
Modesty goes to a public school at the end of summer and Chastity has taken full ownership of the brownstone, sixteen and lovely, her hair worn differently, less severe, and she smiles often now. She goes to the sanctuary when Modesty is in school and helps the children there, like she used to.   
  
They won’t know about him and Percy for a while, he suspects, and he wonders if they’ll accept it. Modesty will most likely, but he doesn’t know if Percy can tell Chastity about what real sins are, if she would believe him.   
  
It’s easier to keep their relationship in the apartment. It’s a place of comfort, another home for him. Maybe it will be where he lives eventually, when Chastity is eighteen and able to care for the brownstone on her own.   
  
But that’s a thought for another day.   
  
Credence walks to the apartment after work and takes the lift upstairs. Sometimes Percy is there to pick him up and sometimes he isn’t, but Credence doesn’t mind.   
  
He is busy after all.   
  
When he walks inside, he expects to get to work on the sketch he had started yesterday, but he’s surprised to see Percy is home and he’s not alone. There’s a woman sitting on the loveseat, Percy on the sofa, and he’s never seen her before. It’s so bizarre to see anyone else in here that for a moment he’s rather terrified.   
  
“Good afternoon, love,” Percy says as he smiles at Credence and that soothes the fear, at least a little.   
  
“Hello,” Credence says as he walks further into the apartment.   
  
The woman is beautiful, dark skin and dark clothes, vibrantly blonde hair, and she’s smiling at him, something kind in it. “Hello, Credence,” she says and there’s something in her voice that washes the fear completely away.   
  
“Credence, this is my friend Sera. She dropped by unexpectedly, as she always does,” Percy says with a wry smile. “We were just talking about you.”   
  
“Good things I hope,” Credence says with a smile as he walks around and sits on the sofa. He’s not sure how close he should be to Percy, though he had called him  _ love _ in front of her.   
  
But Percy pulls him closer and kisses his cheek, which makes him blush scarlet, when he realizes they’ve never done it in front of anyone before. Well, not in front of anyone that could see anyway. But Percy’s arm is a comfort around his shoulders and Credence leans into him.   
  
Sera is still smiling as she looks at them. “I never know if Percy is embellishing,” she says. “He’s fond of that, isn’t he?” She chuckles as Credence shrugs helplessly, because it’s true. “But his fondness for you hasn’t been embellished at all.”   
  
Credence is blushing still, he knows, and he clears his throat. “Oh,” he manages. “I don’t think so either.”   
  
Percy tsks. “Don’t embarrass him, I do that enough already,” he says. “Though my fondness for him certainly knows no bounds.”   
  
Credence shakes his head and rubs his hand over his forehead, only trying not to melt to the floor.   
  
“Don’t I know it,” Sera says with some dryness. “It seems to me that Percy has moved Heaven and earth for you, Credence. It’s nothing to be embarrassed by,” Sera adds when Credence grimaces. “It’s only that I’ve never seen him do it before. I’m rather proud of him, seeking out happiness of his own and helping you find yours.”   
  
Credence thinks that Sera is not one of Percy’s human friends. “He has helped me,” he says. “In a lot of ways. I wouldn’t… I’d be in a very different place if I hadn’t met him. I owe it all to him.”   
  
“Not all,” Sera says with a wider smile. “You have yourself to thank for a great deal of it.”   
  
“You do, love. You know you do,” Percy says as he rubs his hand over Credence’s arm.   
  
“I suppose,” Credence mutters and looks at his lap.   
  
Sera chuckles. “Painfully humble, that’s what Percy called you,” she says as she stands. “A good balance between you two, I think, because Percy is anything but humble.”   
  
“He really is,” Credence says and smiles as Percy pinches him. “It’s easier to put up with when you get to see him drooling on himself every morning or getting attacked by my sister’s cat every few days.”   
  
Sera laughs, musically, and glances at Percy with an eyebrow raised, smiling. “I can only imagine.”   
  
“Betrayal of the highest order,” Percy says with a bland smile in return and shakes his head when Credence grins.   
  
“You are good for him,” Sera says as she stops in front of Credence. She touches him, her fingers gentle on his cheek, her thumb brushing over his forehead. “You always will be.”   
  
When she walks away, Credence is left a little breathless. He’s not sure what he feels, but there’s warmth in his chest, even while his heart races. He feels strangely like the wholeness he’s been feeling since he first kissed Percy has been made larger and he doesn’t think that makes any sense at all.   
  
“See you in a few days, Sera,” Percy says as he rubs Credence’s thigh.   
  
“Percy,” Sera says. “Credence.”   
  
“Bye,” Credence says as he watches her leave through the front door. He has a bizarre desire to leap from the sofa and see if she’s still in the hall or if she’s disappeared, the way Percy does.   
  
But he manages to keep himself still and blinks for a while before he looks at Percy. “Is she a demon?”   
  
Percy raises his eyebrows and laughs. He laughs more after that, like he can’t help it. “I wish you had asked her that,” he says and grins. “No, Credence, she isn’t a demon.”   
  
“An angel?” Credence asks weakly, the idea of meeting an angel and telling her about Percy drooling on himself perhaps the worst possible way he can imagine it happening.   
  
Percy looks like he wants to laugh again, but he merely smiles and leans in, kissing Credence’s forehead. “She certainly has wings,” he says and kisses Credence’s lips.   
  
He gets up after and walks down the hall, toward their bedroom.   
  
Credence stares after him, when he disappears inside and feels a little weak all over. “Is she God?” he asks even more feebly.   
  
Percy only laughs more.   
  
Credence stands up and walks into the bedroom. Percy’s moving a few sketches around on the walls, which are doing it themselves, and he looks at Credence, smiling.   
  
“How about,” he says, “you stop worrying about God and the Devil and let me give you a proper welcome home?”   
  
And Credence decides to do just that, because he isn’t quite prepared to accept the truth otherwise. He moves to Percy and wraps his arms around his neck and Percy kisses him, passionately so, and the bed is not so far away after, easy to collapse into.   
  
It would be easy to get lost in thoughts of God and the Devil and Heaven and Hell. It could drive him crazy, if he let it, the magnitude of what he knows about it all, the way he knows it would be best kept to himself, because who would believe him anyway?   
  
But he finds it easier to get lost in thoughts of Percy, here in their apartment, in their bed. A man that seemed to play a game but led Credence away from death and into salvation instead. Salvation that he himself gave, but also the salvation that Credence gave himself. The absolvement of his perceived sins so he might be able to embrace a man he loves and feel only that, feel only the happiness that comes with it.   
  
So that when he looks at Percy and tells him he loves him and watches him smile, hears him say it too, he can feel only joy, once so foreign to him, but now a constant thing, coursing through his veins.   
  
Life may not always be easy, Credence knows, but when he’s got a fallen angel in his corner, it never has to be so painful again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my version of a demon au! I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Thanks so much to [Erin](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire), for being such a star as always, and [Soz](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/soz) for the love and support with this one too! And my Mama, for reading my fic and cheering me on! :D
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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